Years Gone
by Unlikely Hiro
Summary: Despite their best efforts, Peter exploded, and the heroes must now face discrimination, cruelty, and an uncertain future. Sequel to the episode Five Years Gone.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I: I Had A Dream**

Sunday, May 16, 2021

Claude sat down in a large, garish yellow chair. "Mr. Iyer is not coming, Professor?"

"Not just yet," came a voice from the kitchen. "And call me Nirand, please!"

Professor Nirand Chandrasekhar emerged from the kitchen bearing a tray. "You said Earl Grey was your favorite?"

"Yes, thank you." Claude took the teacup as Nirand sat down across from him in an equally garish and yellow chair.

"I suppose," Claude said after taking a sip, "We could discuss the List first. How many have you located?"

"256," Nirand said, "Several of them have already expressed interest in joining Yamagato."

Claude set down his teacup and said, "Well, they'll have to discuss this with our operations in Hyderabad. Our chief—" Claude rubbed his forehead, "I'm sorry, I'm feeling just awful."

"Jet lag, I suppose?" Nirand said with a smile.

"Yeah, I suppose." Claude took another sip, "Manmohan retired last month, and I can't remember who the new head of operations is."

"Well, never mind," Nirand said, "I'm sure that Hyderabad can handle things. It is the matter of Mr. Iyer that is more important."

"How so? He's a dream-walker, right? Is something wrong?"

Nirand nodded slowly, "He has made a discovery while entering someone's dreams, since we last communicated. It appears that the American government is planning an attack on the evolved human reservation."

"Call it SG City, please," Claude said. Claude quickly downed the rest of the tea. He shook his head and leaned back in the chair. "It's really good tea."

Claude rubbed his forehead again. "I'm really sorry," he said, "I'm feeling disoriented. Anyway, it wouldn't be the government. Not now."

Claude closed his eyes, "I can't even remember how I got here."

"You liked the tea?" Nirand asked.

"Eh? Well, yes, but—"

"The compliments shouldn't go to me," Nirand said.

Claude blinked. Suddenly, the chair and Nirand's apartment were gone. Claude was sitting in the sand on a beach somewhere. Large red rock formations were just offshore.

"What the bloody hell?" Claude leapt to his feet. He was wearing a white robe.

"He's very good, isn't he?"

Claude turned around. Nirand was walking towards him, also dressed in a white robe. A young man was walking next to him.

"Claude Rains," Nirand said, pointing at the man next to him, "Meet Sanjog Iyer."

The young man extended his hand. Claude shook it, "So I'm asleep?"

Sanjog nodded, "Your plane is close to India, which is why I could find you."

"I am asleep at the airport," Nirand added.

"Well!" Claude laughed, "I suppose we should get down to business. Nirand said—"

The beach scene slowly faded away. Claude felt himself shaking.

He opened his eyes. A flight attendant was shaking him.

"Sir? Sir?" she said, "The plane has landed."

"Oh?" Claude sat up, "Oh, thank you."

* * *

Claude went invisible to get through customs. It wasn't strictly necessary, but as an SG he would be subject to a more limited visa. He was also, as a member of the Yamagato Fellowship, somewhat high profile. So, he stamped a fake passport under the name "John Tyler," just in case.

Nirand and Sanjog were waiting for him at the gate, where they shook hands once again.

"Welcome to Madras, Mr. Rains," Sanjog said.

"Just Claude," he said, "It's nice to see you in the land of the living."

Claude was suddenly serious, "Nirand said you saw something in your dreams."

Nirand quickly looked to the left and right. "Not here," he said, "Let me take you to my office."

* * *

Nirand's car, a hydrogen fuel-cell model made locally, was a testament to his relative opulence in India. Most of the vehicles were made for export.

India was instead a land of bicycles and buses.

As the head of Chennai University's Department of Biology, Claude had expected that he would have a large office. Instead, Nirand took them to a cramped room that felt more like a closet than an office. Most of the office was taken up by a desk and several file cabinets. A small window afforded views of the University's luxurious gardens.

Claude and Sanjog somehow managed to squeeze themselves into the two seats in front of Nirand's desk.

Nirand steepled his fingers together and said, "Sanjog, I believe you are better prepared to explain the situation."

Sanjog simply nodded and turned to Claude, "About three days ago I was summoned into the dream of an American who was evidently visiting India on business.

"The dream started simply enough. He was initially dreaming about working at some sort of facility. It appeared to be an airport. He was sitting at a desk in an office that was filled to here with papers." And he raised his hand above his head.

Sanjog continued, "He felt frantic, and was searching for something in those papers. So, I decided to change the direction of his dream in the hopes of helping him find his answer."

"I brought him outside first. We were standing in front of some airplanes, unlike any I have ever seen before. I let his mind take over there and the room was filled with people in what appeared to be military uniforms.

"He turned to me and said, 'Lieutenant! Do you have the report on the sugs' location?'. I told him I did not. I redirected the dream slightly to draw attention away from myself.

"He then walked over to a pair of men standing by one of the planes. One of them was the man, but younger, and the other was evidently a high-ranking official.

"The Young One said, 'General, what's happened?'

"The General said, 'I'm sorry, son. There's nothing to be done.'

"The dream then took all of us to another room, a large one. A large LCD screen was along one wall, and dozens of men were sitting at computer banks. On the screen was a map of North America, and a sort of target sign had appeared over New York.

"Sirens were going off, and people were running around in a panic. The Young One passed us and we followed him. He ran outside—it was dark—and jumped into an airplane, an F-16 I think. He took off with a squadron of planes and flew over a large fire. I gathered that it was New York City, moments after the Explosion.

"The dream shifted again—it was by this time fully out of my control—and we were all watching President Petrelli's 'Tradgedy of Unfathomable Dimension' speech, the one before he was president? But at the same time, the Young One was talking to a young woman.

"'I don't believe any of this,' she said.

"'Absolutely,' he said, 'No way our President was a sug. No way. They just want us to _think_ he was, so we pity them.'

"Then the TV changed to the treaty ceremony in 2012, the one that established SG City. And the Old One said, 'Yes, I must do this. I _must_, for my country. They must pay.'"

Sanjog wiped his forehead. He had suddenly started to sweat, "I then saw his 'dream', by which I mean his deepest desire. He was standing in a group of shacks, that I just 'knew' was SG City. He was holding an AK-47. A blonde woman shot fire out of her hands at him, but a soldier jumped in front of him and was burned instead. He killed the woman, shooting long after she was dead. He then shouted into a cell phone—and I quote—'Kill fucking all of them! I want absolutely _no_ survivors, understand? Total fucking _extinction_!' And then I woke up."

Sanjog shuddered, "Thanks to my ability, I have never had a nightmare, other than those I have intentionally induced."

"'S'alright," Claude said, patting him on the shoulder, "But I have to wonder. How do you know that him being in the military isn't his dream also? His, uh, desire-dream, I mean."

Nirand reached into his desk and pulled out a folder. He handed Claude a piece of paper. It was a brain scan covered in Hindi writing.

"This was taken while Sanjog was asleep," he said. "Note the—"

"Temporal lobes, yes," Claude said, "That indicates that you're an extremely powerful telepath. And there's the Phase Three activity i'd expect for ESP."

Claude handed back the paper, "Of course, I can't read the notation."

He turned to Sanjog and asked, "What was the man's name?"

"That was never revealed to me," Sanjog said.

"Fantastic!"

Nirand handed Claude another paper, "A local police sketch artist made this composite of the man."

Claude stared at it for a moment. He said, "He sorta looks like the commander of the Death Star, but a bit younger."

Nirand smirked a little. "You are not familiar with this man?"

"No, but Yamagato has contacts in the upper levels of the military that might."

Claude handed back the sketch, "So, now what?"

"We were hoping that you would have some ideas," Nirand said.

Claude was silent for a moment, thinking. Then, he said, "I'll have to make some phone calls, get the Fellowship mobilized. I wasn't expecting to stay here that long. I'll need somewhere to stay."

"I can take care of that," Nirand said.

"In the meantime," Claude said, turning to Sanjog, "What about your ability? Could you find this man again?"

"It's not that simple," Sanjog said, shaking his head, "I usually let people find _me_. In addition, I'd need his name to find him again. And even if I had his name, he would have to be within about **_1500 _**miles for me to find him—in India, in other words."

Claude sighed. He said, "Well, we'll work out something." He stood, "I need to start making calls."

"Of course," Nirand said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II: The Way Things Are**

* * *

Chennai, India

Early Tuesday Morning, 18 May 2021

Nirand didn't look up from his computer when he heard the knock on the door, nor did he look up when he heard the person enter his little office.

"Hello, Mira."

"Who is 'Mira,' Professor Chandrasekhar?"

Nirand turned around, "Ah! Sorry, Mr. Singh, I am expecting someone."

Nirand's student nodded and sat down. Nirand turned around for a second to flick off his computer screen, "What brings you here?"

Singh squirmed in his chair, "My term paper. You see Professor, there is an emergency in my family." And for the next ten minutes, Singh and Nirand discussed Singh's family troubles and negotiated an extension. Which meant that Nirand didn't notice that his computer was being hacked via the internet.

Singh stood up, "Thank you very much, Professor."

Nirand shook his hand, "There is nothing to thank me for, Mr. Singh. I am just glad you came here to explain things to me. I hope everything turns out well."

"Thank you again," Singh said, turning around and bumping into Mira when he stepped out the door, "I beg your pardon, miss," he said in a hushed, forced voice. Mira merely nodded and entered Nirand's office.

"Good morning, Dr. Shenoy," Nirand said, sitting back down and writing something in a notebook.

"And to you, Professor Chandrasekhar," Mira said, "I believe you know why I'm here."

"Mm-hm."

"And what are your findings?"

Nirand closed his notebook, "I am not going to tell you."

"Excuse me?"

"Dr. Shenoy--Mira--You know full well the policies of Bharagene in regards to the Enhanced Genetic Sequences, and quite frankly, I want no part in it." Nirand opened his notebook again, "Besides, Parliament is, I am told, preparing to investigate Bharagene for violations of the SG Test Ban Treaty," he smiled, "I will give you THAT. Go tell your bosses to prepare for it. They can shred all the incriminating documents and so on."

Mira leaned forward, "Are you serious, Nirand?"

"Deadly so, I am afraid."

She leaned further forward, standing up and placing her hands on the desk, "Do you realize how much important your findings are to ME, let alone my company?"

"What are you doing Mira? Your charm left you a number of years ago. This flirting will get you nowhere."

Mira slapped him and turned to leave, "My Company will not take 'no' for an answer. Keep that in mind, PROFESSOR." And she left the room.

"You could have at least shut the door!" Nirand shouted. Rubbing his cheek, he got up and shut it himself. He stared at the doorknob for a moment, and decided to lock it.

Nirand sat at his computer again. He grabbed his phone, a rather battered rotary dial, and placed a call.

"Allo, you have reached Abuswami Financial Services, this is Shushir, how may I help you?"

"Can you direct me to Miss Rasihamatijan, please?"

"One moment, sir!" Nirand was subjected to about three minutes of bad pop music before he was put through.

"AFS stock offices, this is Amita," she said.

"Hello, this is Nirand Chandrasekhar, and I have some changes to make to my portfolio."

Rasihamatijan recognized the code, "Of course. What is it you need, sir?"

"I would like to remove all stock in Bharagene."

"ALL stock?"

"Yes, miss, all."

"One moment," the sound of typing, "Is there anything else, sir?"

"Yes, I would also like to make some adjustments to the 'American Account.' I will be at Sanjay's Gourmet Restaurant this afternoon, at three. I wish to speak to a financial representative."

"That will be possible, but it will cost 35,000 Rupees an hour to consult."

Nirand consulted his codebook, where it read "Rs35 000 NO MEETING POSSIB./CALL LATER"

"That is unfortunate, but I am willing to pay. Thank you, Ms. Rasihamatijan."

"You're quite welcome, sir."

Nirand slammed his phone down, silently praying that Claude and Sanjog were having better luck than he was at the moment.

* * *

"Hello, Meredith?"

"This is Boris, Claude. You should not be calling here."

Claude leaned on the pay phone, "This is important. I need to speak to Meredith."

"The Mayor has received your message and understands its urgency. That is why she has left to visit our Italian friend."

"She went to Peter?!" Claude shouted, startling passers by and a flock of pigeons into flight.

"Be silent, Rains! You do not know who is listening. She has left, and that is it. Goodbye!"

"Boris, don't--!" Claude growled and threw the phone at the rest of the booth, letting it hang when he stormed out of the booth. Sanjog ran up to him.

"What happened?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter," Claude hissed, not even glancing at Sanjog, "Tell me more about what its like when someone comes to you."

"I would if you were listening." Claude turned around and sighed.

"I was trying to contact the mayor of SG City."

"Where?"

Claude sighed, "SG City is a reservation in America where SG's and there families are forced to live. It's hot as hell, there, and we're all shit poor, too."

"And why do you need to talk to him?"

"Her. And would you stop asking all these questions! You're 26, for Christ's sake!"

Sanjog folded his arms, "If you're going to take me to America, I'd like to know what I'll face/be facing."

Claude sighed again, "It won't be pleasant, I'll warn you. You'll have a passbook, for one--"

Sanjog pulled a little booklet out of his pocket, "We have those here too, you know."

Claude snatched it from him and waved it in his face, "But they don't check it much, do they? Just when you go certain places or buy things, right? Well, in America, you can't go anywhere without it. You have to apply to DC just to leave the reservation, and fill about a dozen forms and wait a week, even if you were bleeding to death--so we're lucky we have a healer in town. Once you're outta town, you have to check in in every city hall of EVERY town you pass through. Say you're on a road trip. You have to get the damn thing stamped in every town, even if you're just passing through. Miss just ONE, you're in prison--Federal prison!--for a MONTH. You have to have every purchase pre-approved. And sure, you can buy things, but the best stuff's outta reach. You can only eat in 'SG Only' restaurants, drink from 'SG Only' fountains. You can be thrown in jail at a cop's whim. You can't vote, you can't speak your mind. There's no identity theft production, no insurance, and you pay more than 65 of your income in taxes--Assuming you're lucky enough to even HAVE income. You can be tortured, beaten, molested, and can't sue or defend yourself in court! You can't even have a lawyer! EVERY protection afforded in U.S. Law is denied to us. That includes the right to raise a case in the Supreme Court, so we can't challenge any of this bullshit." Claude smiled and grabbed Sanjog by the shoulders, "Sure you want to come to America, kid?"

Sanjog was silent for a long moment before he said, "Then how'd you get out of the country?"

Claude let out a bark of a laugh and went invisible. He spun around and shouted right in Sanjog's ear, "I'm a criminal, laddie. A wanted man. I'd go to prison for several years if they caught me."

Sanjog turned around and Claude became visible again. Claude stuck his hands in his pockets and said, "You got it really nice here in India."

Sanjog was silent, and he sat down on a bench by a large fountain. He tried to imagine what it would be like to face prison if he just walked through the wrong door or said the wrong thing to the wrong person...

A Sikh in a full turban walked by him, giving a concerned look. Sanjog smiled at the man, who kept walking.

"Do they control your religion?"

"Huh?" Claude sat down next to him, "No. Not YET, anyway. We don't have a church or a temple or anything, but that's only because we can't afford one."

"Oh." Sanjog watched the man walk around a corner and disappear, "How much money do you have?"

Claude pulled a bill out of his wallet, "This is a JFK. Named for the guy on it. After, the US had massive inflation--After the Explosion."

"So did India."

"Well, this bill is worth about a BILLION dollars--excuse me, an arawb dollars, as you say here--or so it says. Sounds like a lot, but it's really quite worthless. Only..." Claude seemed to do the calculations in his head, "75,000 rupees. You could perhaps buy a DVD player with two or three of 'em."

Sanjog shook his head in amazement, "Incredible."

Claude tugged on the bill as if he were checking for its crispness, "This single bill alone accounts for about a thousandth of a percent of SG City's economy. Put another way, my wallet contains a tenth of a percent of the City's money."

Claude put the bill back in his wallet, "But enough about money. We need to talk about your ability." Claude leaned on his forward, his hands on his thighs, and smiled, "Like how did you find ME, for instance. And how does your 'Dreamland' work?"

Sanjog took a deep breath and said, "It is difficult to explain what dreams, uh, look like to someone who does not have this ability. I tried to explain it to Nirand once, and all that I did was give him a big headache."

Sanjog took another deep breath, "He did, however, help me come up with an metaphor. I used to be a sort of dip or hole in a field. People are like cricket balls, and their lives and worries are a specific path on the 'field of dreams.' If a person was in need, they might stray to close to my 'ditch' and would fall in, where I would appear in there dreams. By this same metaphors, the gods are like cricket players, I suppose.

"I've recently begun to study some of the meditation methods of the yogis. Nothing more than observation, really, not a devotion, not yet, at least. Basically, these meditations that my observations helped me develop are akin to 'pushing' my little hole, or digging it out in a certain direction.

"There is a favorite metaphor of astronomers that describes space as a sheet of rubber, where I'd then be a ball set in it. My meditations are like running my finger along that sheet, creating a temporary 'funnel' from me to this certain person. Is this making any sense so far?"

Claude waved his hand side-to-side in a so-so gesture. Sanjog sighed and continued:

"I usually meditate on a person's name--yours, for instance--when I wish to perform this method. I use it as a 'mantra' of sorts. I've found that writing the name on a slip of paper and eating it or placing it under my head when I sleep is sometimes effective, as well.

"At any rate, this is why I can't find that American, the 'Great Moff' as you called him. He was one of the 'cricket balls' and thus I did not have his name to meditate on and therefore find him."

Sanjog placed his hands in his lap and said, "That is all I can offer for now without further questions from you."

Claude scratched his head, "You have been helpful. Quite frankly, I don't know if I can help train you further."

Claude stood up, "Hopefully, though, I will be able to relay to you the name of the Grand Moff--oh, Good God, don't call him THAT, it was just a joke...!--and then you can find him. But, I was wondering if you could affect people in their sleep."

Sanjog tilted his head, "Affect them how?"

"I dunno, mind control or subliminal suggestion, perhaps?"

Sanjog shook his head, "Not yet, at any rate, but it may not be necessary."

"What?!" Claude snapped.

Sanjog smiled, "There is another one of Nirand's 'harbored Specials,' a girl from Calcutta. Her name is Amita..."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III: The Name of Evil**

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This Chapter takes place several hours before Chapter Two.

* * *

SuperGenomic City, Utah

Monday 17 May 2021

Meredith's voice was oddly solemn as she read from the old, battered Bible she was holding:

"We are gathered here today to join in holy matrimony..."

The entire ceremony--the first real wedding in the town's history--was undercut by a tension so thick even a knife couldn't cut it. The ceremony was blatantly illegal.

"Do you, Jeffrey, take Emily to be your wife..."

A litany of laws outlawed what the bigots in America called "breeding," which included marriage as a matter of course. However, THIS particular article had never been enforced.

"Do you, Emily, take Jeffrey to be your husband..."

A lot of the Linderman Act's more invasive clauses were there to satisfy the radicals, not to actually be OBSERVED. By law, sex was totally banned among SG's, even if birth control was being used. The clause even stank of forced abortions, but everyone knew the millions of anti-abortion Americans wouldn't stand for it--even if they currently were standing for segregation.

"If anyone would object to the union of these two souls, speak now or forever hold your peace." With a smile, she added, "Unless y'all's an agent of the Government."

A few people giggled. The bride smirked a little.

"No? Well, then in open defiance against the Government of the United States, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss."

As they kissed--a kiss observers would later note was just a little bit on the long side--everyone there burst into applause.

Meredith was celebrating with the crowd until she noticed a young man lurking around the outside of the hastily set-up reception area. She immediately began slowly making her way towards him.

"Why, Mr. Crane," she frowned at him, "What brings you here? I doubt it's for the wedding."

"No. I need to speak to you, Madame Mayor. Immediately."

Meredith shook her head, not in reply but rather at the situation, "Fine. I'll be in my office in a hour. No sooner. 'Kay?"

Crane nodded, and headed off to the City Hall at the nexus of town. The Building was a three-story gray-brick affair formed in the shape of an octagon. It sat on a four-foot tall red brick foundation and was less than sixty feet wide. It sat squarely atop the dirt--none of the roads in town were paved.

Meredith, as things turned out, was at the reception for nearly two hours before she managed to extricate herself and sneak back to City Hall. Crane was sitting in the lobby when she got there.

"My office. Now!" she snapped.

Crane sat down in front of Meredith's desk. Meredith began searching through a box of file folders by the door.

"You shouldn't've come."

"Ma'am?"

Meredith found the file she was looking for. She yanked it out of the box along with several other folders, which fell onto the floor. If she noticed, she didn't care.

She slammed the pocket file folder on her desk, "We just violated Clause 31 of the Linderman Act. Are you familiar with it."

"No, ma'am."

She pulled a photocopy of the relevant clause from the folder and quoted, "'Under no circumstances may any powered or paranormal individual (colloquially "SG") be married, either to another SG or to a normal individual. All the benefits of marriage shall be denied to any and all paranormal individuals. All current marriages involving paranormal individuals are hereby annulled. If any paranormal individual is found to be married, and/or to have performed such an unnatural marriage after the ratification of this law shall be fined no less than $5 million,'" Meredith looked at Crane when she read, "'Adjusted for inflation--and be confined to no less than five years in prison and no more than twenty-five.' Need I go on?"

"If the clause is so harsh, why are you taking this risk?"

"Well, it's hasn't ever been enforced, not even before this city was founded and we could live amongst 'normals'--a period of nine years, now. 'Sides," she flicked the paper and held it over her head. It immediately went rigid. It glowed bright red, then turned black and crumbled into dust, "Almost everyone here is manifested. It'd take a madman to try to enforce it here. They're all lucky we don't go and attack 'em again."

Crane squirmed a little and pulled a picture out of his coat. He slid it across the desk towards her. She stared at it blankly.

"What's 'Star Wars' got to do with anything?"

"This is Brigadier General Robert Maslarak. Yamagato recently sent Claude to India to meet a young man who can enter and manipulate dreams. He's been seeing this man in this manner recently, and from these dreams--nightmares, really--it's become clear he plans some sort of attack on us."

Meredith leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. After a moment, she let out a breath, "I see."

"Ma'am, I recently snuck into a military office and was able to photograph some files." He pulled what looked to Meredith's eyes to be some sort of glorified cell phone and fiddled with it, "I managed to photograph some of them 'fore I had to leave."

He flashed it at her. The phone was made up of nothing but a screen. A picture of a piece of paper was on it. He fiddled with it some more and appeared to unfold it as if it was a paper airplane. It was now the size of a standard piece of paper. He slid it towards her like he did the photo.

It read:

"TO: BG. R. MASLARAK

FROM: COL. JACOB G. HARRIS

RE: OPERATION FIREBALL

DATED: 04/13/21

SIR: I have examined the SuperGenomic City Reservation as per your request and have enclosed a full report of the Reservation's tactical and civilian capabilities. In summary, the Reservation is currently as follows:

1) Populated by 1,052 persons, of which 832 are unnormal.

2) The Reservation lacks adequate food and water supplies, though such supplies do exist.

a) Water supply is very dependent on emigre Boris Tikailov, who manipulates weather.

b) Food supply is very dependent on Adam Soo Hoo, who manipulates plant life."

And on. When she finished the first page, Crane told her to tap the bottom right corner. When she did, it appeared to turn over as if it were real.

It was a different page--not from the Harris Report, if the color and texture of the paper meant anything, and was dated April 19:

"...is determined to be 313. Considering their unnatural capabilities, their total weighted tactical strength (TWTS) is 4,281.84.

Methods of attack prescribed:

1) Internal Plant. Bribe or extort Reservation citizens to plant bombs within the city. (These bombs should be disguised so that they will not be willing to cooperate. If undisguised, they will most certainly will not)."

It went on, detailing several separate plans of attack on the city, with the end result of the total genocide of the city's population--which was perhaps the slight majority of America's SG's, certainly the vast majority of those who hadn't fled the country.

Meredith drummed her fingers on her desk for a moment, "Joey?"

"Hm?"

"Have you relayed this to Peter?"

"Yes, ma'am," Crane said.

She stared at the documents on her desk, "Our City Bylaws don't take the defense of the City into account. We always assumed we would be left alone..."

She suddenly stood up and walked out and into a neighboring office. The office was empty, and rather neat. Meredith frowned and ran out of the office.

Crane was right behind her, "Who are you looking for?"

"Amid Malachai, the Vice-Mayor," she said, "We need to mobilize things and prepare for this attack, and ." She stopped in the empty lobby and looked through an ancient, rotting card catalog, "#14 Chandra Alley," she read from a card. She grabbed Crane's arm, "C'mon, Joey, it's only two blocks."

They exited the City Hall and went onto the dirt streets. Eight streets radiated outward from the hall at the center--they were thirty feet wide. The main street was known as Nakamura Boulevard, after Hiro and Kaito, and was a bit wider. Chandra Alley was a fifteen-foot wide uncompacted dirt path that intersected with Nakamura Blvd. one block to the west.

The "homes" along each side of the street were nothing more than back-yard sheds, 8 by 20, and though they were well-built, they were never intended by the manufacturer to be lived-in 24/7/365.

People stared at them quizzically as they ran down the dirt road. Crane continued west for a moment when Meredith turned right onto the Alley, and she had to double back and grab him and lead him to Malachai's "house."

Number 14 was a bit more decorated than most others on the alley. There was an ornate rug out on the porch, decorated with geometric designs and vibrant colors. A Qur'an was seated on a little round table that was also on the porch--The Malachais were the City's only Muslims.

Meredith rapped on the door with such force that Crane found it amazing that the shoddy door didn't collapse. Amid opened the door so suddenly that Meredith fell to the floor.

"Merry!" he shouted, helping pull her up, "What in the world is wrong?"

"Terrible City business," she whispered, looking inside the house, "Who...?"

"We are having dinner with the Franks," he said, gesturing at his guests.

Meredith smiled at them, "Well, y'all gotta go, city business."

"Of course," Mr. Frank said genially, shaking her hand and grabbing their things from a coat rack by the door.

After they left, Meredith shook hands with Amid's wife, Shareesh, and introduced the young couple to Crane. Neither were SG, though Amid had inherited the genes from his father and was a carrier, and thus he was here. Neither had living children. Shareesh gave birth in the City in 2018, but young Kamel--a name meaning "perfect"--died of heatstroke in Summer '19. A large, framed picture--the only one of Kamel--was lovingly framed and the centerpiece of the living-room section.

Meredith didn't attempt to exclude Shareesh; she would insist on being with her husband, and Amid would concur. She and Crane quickly explained what she had been shown.

Amid stroked his beard, "We should certainly convene a full City Council as soon as possible."

"Definitely contact Yamagato," Shareesh added, "We need to prepare for this attack."

"I've already had the Defense Division prepare for mobilization," Crane said, "It'll be difficult to get them in, though."

There was silence. Finally, Meredith said, "I should see Peter."

"Can you leave to do that?" Crane asked.

"No, he'll have to come to me and beam me out. My pass out of town is revoked, they say because I'm technically Mexican now."

Crane sighed, "He'll probably want to take you to HQ to discuss things further."

"Then have him come get me immediately."

"I will."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV: The Face of Evil

Headquarters of the First Secret Brigade

Somewhere in the United States

Monday 18 May 2021

"Corporal, HALT!"

The corporal, leading a small squad in their daily marches, came to an immediate stop. Colonel Jake Harris paced around them in circles for a few moments.

"You are all much better than last time. Continue. MARCH!"

The squad immediately began marching again. Harris crossed his arms as they left. He wrote some things in a notebook, and left the training field for the General's office.

"Inspections are complete, sir."

"Good," the General whispered. The General's office was very large, complete with a TV and fireplace, carpeting, and a sofa. A modern-style steel desk sat in the back, by a wall made of windows. It was wood-paneled. To the right of the General's desk was a door. Though he had never been through it, Harris knew for a fact that it contained a bedroom--the General preferred to sleep at headquarters.

The General was sitting on the sofa with his feet on an ottoman, staring at the blank TV screen, "Colonel Cornwellson says one of YOUR men turned his abilities on one of her men."

Harris stepped in to the office. The door closed behind him, "Corporal Yen, yes he did. I will talk to him."

The General turned around, "You're damn fucking right you'll talk to him. Aren't you aware of what he can do?"

Harris rolled his eyes, "Yes, cause burns without fire."

"Well?" the General got up and walked over to his desk. Harris followed, "Cut him off from his booze. Put him in A.A."

"Of course, sir. Is there anything else?"

"I'm still nervous about having you people around," the General muttered as he sat down at his desk.

"Glad to serve with you too, sir."

The General shook his head as he shuffled through papers, "Any news from their hole?"

"Other than our burn victim, no."

"The reservation, you idiot!"

"Of course sir," Harris took out his notepad and said, "We believe Petrelli took out Gordon-Hernandez for a meeting somewhere. She has since returned. An emergency session of the City Council will be held today for an unspecified reason, closed-door," he paused, "It makes me wonder. They have so much secrecy about this meeting."

"You think those sugs know anything?"

"THOSE sugs? I have no idea. As for THIS sug," he patted his heart.

"Oh, shut up," Maslarak interrupted, "You're one. Go and tell someone who cares," He found the paper he was looking for and read through it, smiling.

"What? Sir?"

"It would appear that Phase One is ready. Tell those involved I order it's implementation ASAP."

"Of course, sir."

* * *

Kunrathur, India 

Tuesday 19 May 2021, 11:37 AM (Indian Time)

Sanjog lived in a tall apartment building that overlooked Chembarambakkam Lake. Given that the whole area was urbanized, though, it wasn't much of a view.

The first thing Claude had noticed when he had come to the apartment, about a day ago, was the small shrine in what passed for the living room. Claude had assumed it was of a religious nature, but as Claude came in to inspect it he realized that the centerpiece was a picture of a young man and woman taken during a traditional Indian wedding. The man was Sanjog, but he'd never seen the woman before.

"That's my wife, Madhulekha. She was murdered two years ago."

Sanjog had startled him--he had been in another room--and Claude jumped a little. "I'm sorry. What happened?"

Sanjog stared at the floor, "There ARE anti-SG militants in this country. We were an 'unnatural marriage' so said her own father--even though he had arranged it in the first place. She was killed by her own family."

"What happened to the killers, then?"

"Still awaiting trial. Our justice system is notoriously slow," he looked up, "I'm packed now."

"Ah good!" Claude said, eager to change the subject, "Nirand should be here any minute now. He called last night and said he got the tickets. We'll be going to meet this Amita first, and then we'll be going to America. He also said that something odd has been happening to the people on his List."

"Odd how?"

Claude scratched his head, "Well, five of them have got some sort of bloody rash on their backs. And if it's what I think it is..."

Claude fell silent and seemed to stare off into space. Sanjog walked closer to him, "What?"

"Well, about thirty years ago I worked for an organization."

"What organization?"

"The 'Linderman Group Special Projects Division,' though those of us who worked their just called it 'The Company'--or OWI, which was a joke on the fact that--never mind, that's not important. The Company would kidnap any SG's it found and study them overnight. They got implants," Claude pulled back his collar, revealing a terrible scar, "a microchip in my case, though just a bit Before it became some sort of liquid substance."

Sanjog noted how Claude seemed to say "Before," meaning the period prior to November 8, 2006, without the wistful reverence others did, even Tamil speakers like Nirand.

"And how much does it bleed?"

"What?"

"You said 'a bloody rash'..."

"Oh! No, that's just a figure of speech!"

Sanjog nodded. Claude opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Nirand burst into the room.

"Sanjog! Turn on a TV, quickly!"

Sanjog gestured around at his apartment, "Does it look like I can afford one?"

Nirand groaned and grabbed them both and dragged them out into the hallway.

"What happened?" Sanjog asked.

"We're going to a bar on the next block. There's a TV there."

"What HAPPENED Nirand?" Claude shouted. Nirand didn't respond, but kept running, "If you're gonna show us the news, it's gonna be in bloody Tamil, so just tell ME and drag SANJOG there on his own."

Nirand stopped abruptly. Sanjog and Claude kept running, though, nearly tripping in the process.

"Very well," Nirand said, "There was just a bombing at Parliament."

"How many?"

"The Prime Minister, for one," he said, "He was just about to support a bill that would eliminate the Passbook and modify the SG Registry Act."

Sanjog was muttering something. Claude wondered if he was praying.

"I know you're used to this in America--"

"The last four presidents have been assassinated," Claude said, "So were the last three kings of England."

"--but this sort of violence is relatively new to us," Nirand concluded. "The entire nation is going to be in a panic."

Claude stared at the floor for a moment, "I suppose this means we aren't gonna be able to leave town?"

"That's all you have to say?!" Sanjog shouted.

"Well, excuse ME!" Claude spun around, "But in case you've forgotten, there's a bloody loon who's gonna kill many more than this stupid bomb and YOU'RE the only one who can stop him!"

Claude jabbed a finger at him, "So quit mourning for your president--"

"Prime Minister," Nirand corrected.

"--And focus on what bloody counts, got it?!" Claude took a cell phone from out of his coat pocket, "I'll call Peter and have him beam us out of here."

"Wait," Nirand said, "Your assumption that there will be some sort of blockade to keep us in town is only minimally correct. We may find trouble getting you across the border and into Andhra Pradesh State, but considering the fact that you managed to get in the country, I doubt that it will be a problem." 

"So that's it?"

"I'll get the car ready," Nirand ran down the hallway. Claude turned to Sanjog, who gave him a hurt look.

"WHAT?!" he snapped.

"How can you be so cold?" Sanjog whispered.

"I don't have time to NOT be," He grabbed Sanjog's hand and began pulling him, "Let's go. You've got yourself a bloody world to save, kid."

—————————————


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V: Border Troubles**

Just north of Arambakam, India

Tuesday 18 May 2021

"Lake Pulicat is very pretty, don't you think?"

Claude grunted. He was staring out the window at the lake, which as far as he was concerned was just a big, giant _swamp_.

Nirand shook his head and stared at the road. Highway 5 was remarkably clear of traffic, which meant they were moving much faster than he had anticipated.

"We should soon cross the state border," Nirand said, "We will then be in Andhra Pradesh. This state is a major site of pilgrimage in the Hindu faith."

"Mm-hm," Claude said, still staring out the window.

Nirand continued, more for his own benefit than anything else, "It is home of the great Tirupati Temple. Very few people there speak any Tamil, but English will suffice."

Nirand sat up in his seat, trying to look over the dash, "_Ennee_?! Sanjog, can you see anything up ahead?"

Sanjog at up, "There's tanks up ahead."

"Tanks?!" Claude sat up, "Why the bloody hell would there be tanks on the road?!"

"Calm down," Nirand said, slowing down the car, "This must be some sort of checkpoint."

One of the men standing besides the tanks began moving towards them.

"What is he on, a skateboard?" Claude asked.

The man "skated" up besides Nirand. He was wearing what Claude would later learn was the new Indian Army uniform, what amounted to a saffron-and-black suit of plastic-like armor. He rapped on the window. Nirand rolled it down about an inch.

"May I help you?" Nirand asked, in Tamil.

"I am Lance _Daffadar_ Prakasam," he said in heavily accented Tamil, "After the events of today we have been ordered to check the documentation of anyone crossing the border. I will need your licence and any passbooks in your possession," He looked over at Claude, "And his passport."

They handed over the documentation (though Claude was privately very reluctant to do so) and the soldier walked away.

After he was gone for a moment, Claude said, "I've got a very bad feeling about this." He leaned over from the back seat and said to Nirand, "You're gonna have to run."

"Nonsense," Nirand said, "He's coming back now."

Claude sidled over to the door, grabbing the handle while simultaneously making his hand invisible so the soldier wouldn't notice.

"No problems," Prakasam said, "Mr. Iyer, your book has been stamped," he said to Claude and said in bad English, "You okay, Mr. Tyler."

"Thank you," Claude said as he took back the fake passport.

Prakasam smiled and gestured Nirand forward. Once the car had passed the tanks, Claude let out a very loud sigh of relief.

"You really are too nervous," Nirand muttered.

* * *

Lynn, Box Elder County, Utah 

The bartender set down the mug with a hard thud. Joey Crane stared at it for a moment before picking it up. He gulped it down within seconds and slid it back to the bartender.

"I don't need seconds, not yet," he said, placing some coins on the counter. The bartender nodded and collected the coins. Joey turned towards the TV in the corner.

_"President Stefan James announced today that he will NOT endorse the proposed SG Tracking Bill, and indicated that he would veto the bill should it pass in Congress."_

'That's a relief,' Joey thought to himself.

_"In response, the National Humanity Protection Front has issued a bounty of $13 trillion to anyone who kills the President."_

Joey shrugged and stared at the tabletop. James was the former Secretary of State, and had no business being president. It took the assassinations of the former president, vice president, and several other officials before he became president in late 2017. He was reelected in 2020 in an election that saw the lowest voter turnout in the country's history. It was a miracle he had lasted this long.

_"In other news, the Prime Minister of India and 327 members of Parliament were killed in a massive explosion in New Delhi. Border watches have been imposed on all interstate highways in India in an effort to catch those responsible. One major suspect is an SG who was in the area according to passbook records."_

"Motherfuckin' sugs," the bartender muttered.

"Mm," Joey agreed.

"Someone oughtta shoot the damn prez, you know?"

"No kidding," Joey lied, "How do stand living so close?"

"To their res?" When Joey nodded, he laughed, "I don't." He rolled up a sleeve, revealing an NHPF tatoo.

"Good for you," Joey said, deciding another drink wasn't a good idea, "I've got too much of a day job to do anything."

"Really? What'cha do?"

"Sales," Joey said, "Just left Ogden for Nevada. Speaking of which," he checked his watch, "My ride should be here any second now." He tipped the bartender, "Keep up the fight."

"You can be damn sure I will." The bartender smiled.

Joey walked slowly out of the bar, letting out a gasp when he reached the outside. 'Too damn close. _Way_ too damn close.' he thought, walking along the street outside the bar. About a minute later a car pulled up beside him.

"Why'd you leave so early?" the driver asked.

"The barkeep, Molly," Joey said as he got in the car, "He's a Fronter."

"Ah," Molly muttered, driving away from the bar, "Well, at least that confirms what we thought."

"Which is?"

"Cells are close to the City," she sighed, turning the radio on and to some heavy metal. Joey shook his head and blocked it out.

A few minutes later Molly slapped him. He turned towards her to find her yelling at him silently.

"Slow down!" he shouted, "I blocked you off!"

"Well, SORRY if my voice is so fucking annoying!"

"It's not your voice, it's the music!" Joey rubbed his cheek, "Now, what is it?"

She pointed at an old house at the top of a nearby hill, "That's why we're here, not for you to drink yourself silly in a bar!"

Joey drummed his fingers on the dash, "Are you always this bitchy?"

"Just go, will ya?!" She reached over him and opened the door, "I'll be in town--"

"'Drinking yourself silly'?"

"--and when you come back to this spot, I'll know and come for you. Got it?"

"Check," Joey said, stepping out and tripping on a branch.

"Why the hell did I let you go off on your own?" Molly asked herself.

"I'm not drunk," Joey said.

"Uh-huh. Should we postpone this?"

"One drink!" Joey shouted, slamming the door and walking up the hill. He heard Molly's car turn around and head back up Dove Creek Road.

The back door of the two-story house had visibly rusty hinges, but it opened without a sound. Joey sneezed silently as the door kicked open a bunch of dust from within the house. The place was incredibly dark, and Joey could barely see the dim outlines of furntiure. He pulled some night-vision glasses from his coat and put them on.

Joey stepped into the room--clearly a kitchen--and looked around. It was unusually bare, with just a fridge and island. He noted that the fridge was round and had some metal "piping" on it. It looked like it came from the thirties.

Joey walked through the kitchen and into the living room. The room was clearly decked out in some sort of plaid-like wallpaper. A staircase went along one wall, and the front door was just opposite the kitchen. To the left was a dark hallway.

Joey ran his hands along a table to his immediate left that went paralell to the wall. It kicked up an absurd amount of dust.

"This can't be the right house," he muttered to himself, walking up the rickety stairway. He waved his hand over it, and it didn't make a sound.

A bathroom and hallway was at the top of the stairs. An abandoned bedroom was to the left, and a hallway to the right. There were two more abandoned bedrooms on each side of the hall. At the end was a closed door.

Joey pulled a gun from out of his coat and opened the door.

The room was clearly NOT abandoned, though it was empty. A new computer sat on a desk, with a pile of papers on each side.

Joey sat his gun down and pulled out a digital camera. He glanced at the first paper, which read:

"NPFCK MMPTR FORTO TSAMN PSTLN..."

He took a picture of the top five papers, which were all in a code. He then switched the computer on and put in a flash drive, downloading the code book.

Once he pocketed the flash drive, he began reading the next piece of paper. It detailed the president's itinerary on May 20, with notes such as "lil' secty." and "shoot!" Joey immediately photographed it.

He turned it over when he felt a gun being placed at the back of his head. The voice of the bartender hissed in his ear:

"Motherfuckin' sug!!!"

--------------------------


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI: Escape and a Meeting**

Lynn, Utah

Tuesday May 18, 2021

The bartender pushed the gun--Joey's, he realized--against his head, "Fucker! Couldn' keep ya're nose where it belongs, couldja?" he cocked the gun, "Your a fuckin' fool, jus' like the resta ya're race."

Joey sighed, and jerked his elbow backwards, hitting the bartender in the chest. He then pivoted his arm backwards at the elbow, punching the bartender in the groin. As the man doubled over, Joey stood up on his right leg and spun around, delivering a roundhouse kick to the man. As the man tottered about, Joey karate chopped his shoulder, knocking him to the floor.

Joey bent down to pick up his gun, "Who's the fool now?"

The bartender shouted, "Fellas! Backup now!" But no sound came out.

"Inaudibility," Joey said, "Handy huh? Thanks for warning me 'bout your backup." Joey whacked the guy with the butt of his pistol, knocking him unconscious.

"Shit," Joey muttered, "Backup. Perfect." He flipped his camera over and turned it to the cell mode, "Molly! We've got a problem!"

"What?!"

"The damn bartender came after me. I knocked him out, but I don't know if it's cold, if you get what I mean. He said he had backup. I need to get out of here!"

He heard her sigh on the other end, "Alright, I'm coming." She abruptly hung up.

Joey pocketed the phone and got out another flash drive. He copied the entire computer's drive to it, which took a few seconds. Checking the bartender's pulse, Joey then put the night-vision goggles back on.

Joey's phone rang again, though thankfully he had made sure any noises coming from his general direction were inaudible, "What?"

"Well, I'm not detecting anyone inside the house other than you and a guy in the room with you who's unconscious."

"That's the bartender."

"There's a car and two guys in the backyard," She took a deep breath, "I don't see any weapons on them, though. You can sneak out the front door safely."

Joey managed to leave the house without being detected. His ability to manipulate sound helped.

"What happened?" Molly asked when he got into the car.

"Guy snuck up on me," Joey said as he sat down, "I set my gun down and he snatched it without me noticing."

Molly turned the car around, "Left your ability 'on,' kid?" She shook her head in disgust, "Really, Joey!"

"Alright, so I haven't been doing this as long as you, jeez girl!" Joey rolled down his window, "Your one to talk. How the hell can you leave YOUR ability on, huh?"

"Shut up."

"Well? It's not like—"

"No, I'm serious. There's a car up ahead."

Molly slowed down and moved over as if to pass. The car was facing sideways, blocking both lanes.

Joey silenced the engine, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Gee, I'm shocked," Molly muttered sarcastically, drawing her gun, "Come on."

Molly and Joey stepped out of their car and approached the other. She signaled to Joey, and began running to the car without making a sound.

The car was on, the engine running. Molly peered in the window.

"Fuck!" she shouted, making Joey jump, "They've been shot!"

Joey walked up beside her. The occupants--an elderly man and woman--had each been shot in the head. Joey sighed and turned around, noticing a note pinned under the wipers.

Molly glanced at him, "Don't touch it! You don't want to leave prints!" Molly ran back to her car and opened the trunk while Joey walked around the victim's car.

Molly came back. Joey noticed she was wearing gloves.

"What the hell...?"

"Always be prepared," she said, opening the note.

"For something kinky?"

"Piss off," she muttered and gestured him over, "Look at this."

Joey peered over her shoulder at the note. It read, "The wages of sin is death, and ye have sinned against nature in thy torrid ways. Death to sugs!" It was signed "R.T."

"Great," Joey muttered, taking a picture of the note, "I hate it when people do that."

"What?" Molly folded up the note and put it back.

"Use religion in such a manner," he fingered a crucifix hanging around his neck. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it before.

Molly walked back to the car. Joey took a few more pictures before joining her.

They drove south, passing the house along the way. A few minutes after they passed, Joey leaned against the door, "It's my fault."

"Joey…"

"That guy was coming after ME, Moll. This guy, this 'R.T.' wanted to kill my 'backup.'"

"And who assumed that those old people were with you? THAT bastard, Joey. YOU didn't do anything."

Joey shook his head. Molly sighed and tapped the wheel.

"You can't blame yourself. If you blame yourself for what some jackass did, you'll paralyze yourself, then kill yourself. It doesn't get you anywhere but hell in the end. You've GOT to remember that, kid, or you'll destroy yourself."

"What do you know?"

Molly turned to glare at him. Joey sighed, "Right, stupid question."

She tapped the wheel again. About a half hour later they reached a fork in the road.

"Where are we?" Joey asked.

"The very outskirts of Rosette. Technically, both these roads are called 'Dove Creek Road.'" They drove for three minutes until they reached a cross-street. Widely spaced two-story homes with huge yards lined the far side of the cross-street.

"This street is called N-62800 West Road," Molly explained, turning right onto it, "We're headed for Highway 30, then for a ranch on the east side of the highway."

A few minutes after that, they exited the highway, then turned down a side road. At the end of it was an empty cul-de-sac amongst by small hills.

"Okay, what gives, Molly?" Joey looked around, "There's nothing here!"

She hit what looked like a garage door opener. A garage door opened in one of the hills, "And I thought you spent your life hiding."

Molly drove them to an underground parking garage. When they stepped out, they headed to a circular alcove with three doors. Taking the center door, Molly led him down a hallway to a huge room. Dozens of desks were set up, usually in pairs facing each other.

"Welcome to the Yamagato's Regional Office," Molly said, leading him to a pair of desks, "That one's yours, 'kay?"

Joey sat down, "So what do I do?"

Molly began typing at her computer, "Whatever it is you did when you were in Seattle, kid."

Joey sighed and flipped the computer on. It was a newer model, which ran on magnets and didn't need to boot up. Joey uploaded the photos he took of the car and filed an official report of what had happened in Lynn.

About ten minutes later, a light went off on his desk.

"Peter's here," Molly said, spinning her monitor. She screwed it off it's stand and tucked it under her arm, "C'mon, we need to go to his office."

* * *

Meanwhile...

Colonel Harris sat down next to Colonel Cornwellson in the briefing room. The woman was swirling around her coffee

"So Ingrid," he said, "Whattayou suppose the General wants us here for?"

"Something important, I'm sure," she muttered.

Harris put an arm around her shoulder, "It is rather late after all."

"I can break every bone in that arm in less than three seconds."

"C'mon, Ingrid..."

"We are not on first-name terms, HARRIS!"

He stood up and moved to another seat, visibly angry. Cornwellson took a sip of the coffee and spat it out.

"Damn, this is cold!"

"Tragic," Maslarak muttered when he entered the room, "Where the fuck are Ye and Jenkins?!"

"It's one-thirty in the fucking morning!" Harris shouted, "They're asleep, like God intended, genius!"

Maslarak jabbed a finger at him, "You'd better watch it, Harris!" He pulled down the projection screen and began to go through the papers he brought in with him.

A few moments later Colonel Jenkins burst into the room waving some papers, "Sir! Excellent news!"

"It'd better be. Your late, damn late, Jenkins."

Jenkins handed him the papers, "You'll want to discuss this, sir. The FGR-207 is operational."

"Are you sure?" Maslarak read the papers.

Jenkins waved his hand in a so-so gesture, "We need some final testing though."

"Absolutely NOT!" Harris stood up, "Not on my men!"

"That won't be necessary," Maslarak said without glancing at him, "We have subjects we can use."

Jordan Ye entered the room and sat down next to Cornwellson, who explained the situation to him.

"In any case, that's not why your here," Maslarak brought up a picture of a disheveled young man, "This is Barry North. I'm sure some of you remember him. Santa Cruz, November of '11?"

"Manifested aerokinesis," Harris said as if he were reading something, "Bastard suffocated 600 kids. But he was a kid too."

Maslarak nodded, "He spent the last nine years in a holding cell in Guantanamo Bay."

"Why wasn't he executed?" Cornwellson asked angrily.

"He was twelve years old, moron," Maslarak hissed, "We don't kill children. He was tried and convicted in absentia to life in solitary confinement."

"Good," Harris muttered.

"Not good," Maslarak waved a finger at him, "The psychological tor—_damage_ he received in there has made him insane. And unfortunately, he escaped on Feb' 19, suffocating ten in the process."

The image changed to a dead man in a military uniform. His chest had been crushed as if by a steamroller, "He has apparently been training himself during his time in 'lockup.' He can manipulate the proportions of atmospheric gasses and their pressures within a volume of approximately 27,000,000 cubic feet."

"A few football fields' worth," Harris mused.

"Now, this concerns US because he recently tortured a lieutenant who was affiliated with our project. He HAD been killing random military officers as part of his 'revenge,' but he is now targeting project affiliates.

"I've ordered the new SOP-3/E supplement packets for everyone in this base. These oxygen gel packs can be swallowed whole by anyone who comes under attack. It supplies oxygen for thirty minutes."

"Aren't those the ones used by Navy divers?" Ye asked.

"The same. The ones we'll be receiving have been calibrated for land use, of course."

He pointed at Harris, "I want that guy of yours with the all-spectrum vision, Johnson—"

"Jackson."

"His name can be Heinrichsvaler for all I care! Have him begin patrolling more and more to look for this guy, got it?"

"Yes sir."

"He'll be supplemented by the 831st Special Reconnaissance Platoon from Groom Lake, who possess similar abilities, on Friday. I want the rest of you to distribute North's picture along with the orders to shoot on sight. Dismissed."

--------------------------


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII: Trouble In India**

Kavali, Andhra Pradesh, India

Tuesday, May 18, 2021

Nirand hung up the payphone with a sigh and walked over to Claude and Sanjog, "I just called the University to feed them some lines about this 'trip.' The Dean said someone broke into my office."

"What for?" Sanjog asked.

"I can only assume the List," Nirand gestured at his car, "I may have to return to Chennai."

"What about Amita?" Claude asked.

Nirand opened the door, "I'll take you to the train station. You'll have to rail to Calcutta."

"S'alright," Claude said, "Can we at least eat first? I'm bloody starved."

"Of course." Nirand locked his car, "I'm sure we'll be able to find something."

A few moments later, Claude spun around.

"What is it?" Nirand asked.

"I'm—I'm not sure," he shook his head, "S'probably nothing."

A few moments later he did it again.

Nirand stopped. Sanjog kept walking, as if oblivious. "Are you sure you are okay, Mr. Rains?"

He was scanning the crowds around them, "What the bloody hell…" He gasped. He pulled Nirand towards him and they went invisible. Seconds later, a gunshot shattered the shop window behind them.

Nirand swore in Tamil as Claude snatched Sanjog as well. Claude began running with them, "Who the hell would shoot you, Nirand?!"

"Presumably whomever burgled my office," he gasped. Claude tucked down an alley with them.

"And who the bloody hell would that be?!"

Nirand leaned against the wall, "There's a genetics company called Bharatgene. They would want the List, but I do not see why they would shoot at me."

"I do," Sanjog whispered.

"Well?" Claude snapped after he was silent a moment, "For God's sake, spit it out!"

Sanjog glared at him, "They have an 'interest' in SG's. Rumors were that they were performing experiments. Parliament was going to investigate—"

Nirand cursed again, "So those conspiracy theorist lunatics are RIGHT!"

Claude shrugged, "Those sods seem to be more spot on these days." He glanced down the street, "Damn. We need guns. You don't suppose there's a gun shop anywhere?"

Nirand shook his head, "Those are hard to come by ANYWHERE in India, Mr. Rains."

"Really? Then what was that bloody riot back in March in Kashmir? That made the news even in places without televisions!"

"You asked about gun stores, Mr. Rains, not the black market. And I do not know how to get one."

"I do," Sanjog said, "I spent my life on the streets."

"Well, we might need that." Claude looked over their heads, "Where the bloody hell are they, anyway?"

As if on cue, a man holding a pistol peeked around the corner. He reached into his coat. Simultaneously, Claude opened a door in one of the buildings and threw Nirand and Sanjog in to the place. Next, the man leveled his gun and opened fire. Claude, still invisible, ducked and ran into the building, pulling the door closed with his foot.

They were at the end of a hallway. The walls were painted tan. A rail ran along the wall opposite the door at waist height. It reminded Claude somewhat of a building at an office park.

He grabbed Nirand and Sanjog, making them invisible again.

"Quickly!" he shouted. A few feet down the hall turned left in an L-intersection. After a few more turns, Nirand leaned against another wall, breathing heavily.

"How much longer?"

"Oh, shut it!" Claude snapped, "There's a reason they bloody call it RUNNING for your life!"

Claude dragged them down a few more hallways. Sanjog noted on the lack of doors. Suddenly, the man stepped out of a hallway to the right. He spun his infrared goggles at them and leveled his gun. Claude and Nirand turned to run.

Sanjog stayed put.

Sanjog became visible, leveled his arm at the man, his palm up as if gesturing for him to stop. He waved his palm over the man. The man swayed back and forth slowly. The gun and goggles slipped out of his hands. He fell after them a few seconds later. When he hit the ground, he started snoring.

"Bloody hell, kid!" Claude ran over to him, "When were you planning to tell me you could do that?!"

Sanjog let out a gasp of breath, as if he had been holding it the whole time, "I wasn't even sure I could."

Claude was speechless for a moment, "Well, let's keep going anyway."

As they ran down the hallway, Nirand swore again, "Aren't there any doors in this place?!"

Claude tapped on a wall, "Apparently not, mate."

Suddenly, another man came running down the corridor towards them. Sanjog stood out in front and prepared himself to put the man down. The man stopped and rolled up his right sleeve, revealing five Japanese characters tattooed on his arm.

"What the bloody hell?" Claude gasped, fingering the same spot on his arm where he had the same tattoo, "Who are you?"

"We've met before. I am Lance Daffadar Prakasam. I was the border guard who inspected you." He spoke calmly and in perfect, unaccented English.

* * *

Prakasam had ushered them into a van. Claude was still a little suspicious of the man, but he did know everything about the Fellowship. Besides, Claude WAS a rather paranoid person.

Prakasam handed a file folder to Claude, who was sitting next to him in the passenger seat.

"Your suspicion that Bharatgene is a criminal organization is correct. They have an interest in what they call 'control' of this nation's SG population. This includes, amongst other things, experimentation to halt manifestations; to control the manifestations of the unmanifested, and the creation of individuals with multiple abilities."

"These… 'experiments' are fatal, aren't they?" Sanjog asked.

Prakasam nodded, "Usually. The experiments to turn 'off' abilities always have been."

"So THAT'S why Mira was so intent on getting my List! They must need more subjects!" He swore loudly in Tamil, punching the door.

"At least I sent a copy of the List to HQ," Claude said.

Prakasam nodded, "We've sent operatives to retrieve everyone on the List. All 248 of them."

"There were 256 on my List."

"Yes, were."

They drove on in silence. Prakasam was taking them east towards Hyderabad. Claude glanced through the bronze-colored folder Prakasam had given him. It was largely surveillance of Dr. Shenoy and largely in Hindi. There was a short, bilingual dossier of Molly Walker included as a reference, indicating that she had been employed in tracking Dr. Shenoy. He could then recognize the Hindi form of her name, _Maalii Waaka_, interspersed throughout the rest of the file.

"You were on the way to see Miss Rasihamatijan, correct?" Prakasam asked, breaking the silence. "She will be at our next stop. She says she was nearly kidnapped by unknown operatives, but her ability helped her escape."

"Her mind control." Claude noted.

"Not exactly," Nirand said, "Her ability is more like belief modification. She can change what a person desires, and I suppose she made her kidnapper or kidnappers not want to take her."

"Lucky her," Claude muttered.

Nirand poked Prakasam, "Did you retrieve any of my files?"

Prakasam nodded, "There were a number of folders I retrieved from your desk. They are in the back."

Nirand turned and began rooting through the junk in the cargo area, "Mr. Rains, I have it filed under 'convikinesis' somewhere. There are…ah, here!" He sat back in his seat and handed a red folder to Claude.

There were a number of brain scans. There was also a letter. Claude didn't have to be literate in Hindi to know the handwriting in the first was unsteady.

"That letter was written by a man with acute psychosis. There was a second letter by the same person after Amita met him. His brain scans should be in there, somewhere."

"And Amita cured his 'psychosis?'" Claude asked.

"You sound skeptical."

Claude nodded, "Rather silly of me, really, given all the bloody crap I've seen in the last thirty-odd years."

He handed the folder back. Nirand handed it to Sanjog, who began flipping through it.

"Lance Daffadar," Nirand asked, "What precisely was stolen?"

"From your office?" Prakasam sighed, "Frankly, I have no idea. Mr. Petrelli ordered that anything left in your office be cleaned out and shipped to our headquarters in Hyderabad. I took a few folders with me," and he gestured towards the back seats, "But as for the rest…I'm afraid you will have to ascertain that for yourself, Professor Chandrasekhar."

Nothing much else happened until they reached Hyderabad. They continued to drive around for forty-five minutes when they entered the city, apparently aimlessly. Claude supposed Prakasam was trying to avoid pursuers. They eventually came to a parking garage that Claude was CERTAIN they had passed at least thrice before. They went in circles in that, too, before pulling to a stop.

Two people were waiting for them. One was a middle-aged man in a brown suit. The other was a young woman in rather traditional dress. When they got out of the van she ran up to Sanjog and hugged him.

"Oh! The little dream guy! It is so good to finally meet you in the realm of the living!"

"Likewise, Amita. Likewise." He smiled.

She walked over to Nirand and shook his hand, "And it is good to see you too, professor."

They exchanged pleasantries for a moment. Claude noted that the man was just standing there. Claude supposed he was some sort of bodyguard.

Amita walked over to Claude and shook his hand, "You must be Claude Rains."

"Yes. And you're Amita Rasi—Rasi…Amita?"

She laughed, "Rasihamatijan, yes. I understand that you think I'm important."

"Very important, yes. We need to talk. We all need to talk."

END


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note:** This is a very short one, but I hope it will keep you all occupied until I can finish IX!

* * *

**Chapter VIII: The Guy In Charge**

Yamagato Fellowship Regional Office

Rosette, Utah

Tuesday, May 18, 2021, 1:40 AM MST

Peter technically did not have an office in the Utah Branch. He was instead borrowing the office of former Sergeant Major Joe Henderson. As such, it was decorated with family pictures and Marine memorabilia, almost wholly pre-2007. Peter had spread a large map across the far wall and was staring at it when Molly and Joey arrived.

"You didn't need to bring your computer, Molly."

"Oh," she sat down and set it beside her chair.

Peter sat down at the desk and handed Joey a file, "Messages from your parents."

Joey flipped through it, "I don't suppose this is why we're here."

"No," he gestured at the wall map, "That's Nuremberg Air Force Base. The guy in charge there, Bob Maslarak, is planning an attack on SG City."

"Good lord," Joey remarked, "Did he LIKE what happened in 2016?"

Peter pulled a file out of the desk, "Henderson's old Marine buddies tell him they're trying to make some sort of 'Haitian-like' missile."

"Son of a bitch," Molly muttered, flipping through the file, "And it's working?!"

"We don't know. That's why you're here, Molly. I need you to see what's going on around him."

"Really?" she smirked, "The Great Papa Petrelli can't do it himself?"

Peter rolled his eyes, "Not any longer. I can't devote myself to CONSTANTLY scanning for someone," he leaned back in his chair, "Anyway, I've got something like four hundred abilities. I can barely remember them all. I can't practice them all. Molly, your better than this than I am."

She stood up, "Fine. Got any pins?"

"Sir," Joey asked, "If I may. It's one-forty in the freaking morning! Do I really have to be here?"

Peter chuckled, "Just a few more minutes, Joey." He handed Molly a packet of circular stickers, "These okay, Moll?"

"Sure," she said, peeling a sticker off the sheet and walking towards the wall map. Joey and Peter followed her.

"I'd like to see if we see the same thing," Peter said.

"Right." Molly held the sticker in front of the giant map and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes.

"He's a tall fellow, long face, thinning hair?"

"Yeah," Peter said.

"He's in a room with windows along one wall and a door opposite," She put the sticker on the map in a room labeled "Briefing II," "He's standing in front of a projector screen."

"I see that too."

"There's a large table in there. There's a redheaded woman—it's unnaturally bright, dyed."

"I've never been able to see anyone other than the person I'm focusing on," Peter said.

"She's upset, angry. Part of it seems that her coffee's cold, and she just spat some out. Part of it is that another man is harassing her. He's tall, somewhat rounder face, black hair. He resembles you, Pete, kinda. The final guy is average height, has a square jaw and neatly trimmed black hair. I think he's Asian."

"Can you get any names?" Joey asked.

"Well, I think the woman is—WAIT! Another man just ran in. He's handing a folder to the General. He says the 'FGR-207' is nearly ready."

"That's the missile," Peter said.

"The jerk who was bugging the redhead—Harris, his name is Harris—is protesting, saying he won't allow them to test on his men. The General's changing the subject. He's showing a picture, talking about the Middle School Massacre in 2011. He—Good God!"

"WHAT?!"

"Sorry, it's just the picture he showed them. It looks like a guy crushed by a steamroller. He says it was done by a guy who can manipulate air. The others—HOLY SHIT!!!" Her eyes flew open.

"What happened?!" Joey asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She was staring at the map, breathing heavily, "There was a—a vibe, from a source I can't identify, but I know it. I could never forget it."

"What?" Peter asked, "Who? WHO?!"

She turned to stare at Joey, "Sylar."

* * *

He put his keft hand behind his head and stared at the ceiling, smirking. 

"I wonder, Barry," he whispered aloud, idly inspecting his other hand, "If your ability will kill me before I can kill you." He let a tiny whiff of nuclear energy to seep from his hands, "I wouldn't bet on it."

He looked down on the floor and telekinetically drew his sketchbook towards him and began to flip the pages, again using only his mind. He grinned at the sketch before him.

"I wouldn't bet on it at all."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX: Paint Me A Picture**

Rosette, Utah

Tuesday, May 18, 2021

Peter had ordered Molly and Joey to get some sleep. Joey, who had been complaining about his lack of sleep, had tried to object. Molly didn't say anything at all, and Peter didn't need the three or so varieties of telepathy he had to tell she was scared out of her wits. He reminded her that Sylar was staying at the Army base and that she could sense him coming for her a hundred miles away. He had calmed her a little with another power, also. It wouldn't do her any good psychologically in the long term, but her body desperately needed sleep.

That had been three hours ago. Peter had been in a precognitive trance since. He stared at the largest painting for a moment.

"Holy shit!" he gasped, "Damn him for running away."

Shaking his head, he walked over to the desk where sheets of paper were scattered about. They were the result of a precognitive ability to write the future he picked up from Yamagato Fellow Byron Bevington. He glanced through them while trying to figure out their order. There were about a hundred pages.

He rubbed his eyes after a moment and decided to get help. He walked to the main office. There was only a single person there.

"Morning, Zach," he said, sitting across from him.

"Morning." He didn't look up from his computer, "Claude put a call in while you were in trance."

"Did he? What'd he want?"

"Review of two subjects he's ready to bring in. Your wife also called."

Peter cocked his head, picking up a psychic subtext, "Home trouble?"

Zach tapped the desk, "Yeah. Steve's just…" He shrugged, "S'nothing."

Peter, though, discretely scanned his mind and planted a suggestion that, he hoped, would fix things, "Well, alright then. Listen, I need you to tell Joe I'll be having his office for a while longer."

Zach chuckled, "I'm sure he'll be thrilled. He'll probably be getting up for his morning calisthenics any moment now. Should I tell Niki you'll be having a long day, too?"

Peter got up, "Knowing my girl, she'll be pissed even if I tell her."

"Hey, it's your fault for staying with the Fellowship."

"No one likes a smart-ass, Zach."

"So why do you keep me around?" He smiled, "Anything else?"

"What time is it in India?"

Zach glanced at the computer, "6:42 PM."

"Call Claude back and tell him I can't show up for a while." He turned to leave, stopped, and walked back, "Zach. Do you think you could help me sort out some of the stuff I wrote?"

Zach shrugged, "Sure, what the hell. I'll stop by the office in a few minutes."

Zach spent most of his time there sorting the written prophecy, making notes and dog-earing the pages before making copies and binding them together. He also offered some suggestions for painting interpretation.

However, by 11:00, he needed to sleep. He was operating on the night-shift schedule after all, and he went home. Joe Henderson stopped by soon after. He joked that Peter needed to requisition his own office before sitting down with a copy of the written prophecy to read.

A few minutes after one, Peter sent an alarm to Molly and Joey's quarters, and waited.

* * *

Molly and Joey lived in separate quarters that were next door to each other. Joey rolled over when his alarm clock triggered and put a pillow over his head.

"Too soon!" he muttered. It wouldn't stop of course, so eventually he switched it off and slid out of bed. He threw on the clothes he had worn the previous night and walked the ten feet to Molly's door.

He stood by the door for a moment before knocking. When he hit the door though, it slid open.

Joey shook his head, "And she calls me the rookie."

Joey glanced around inside. The main room was small, with a small couch facing a fireplace that was immediately to the left of the door when coming inside. When Molly had shown him his quarters the previous night, she had said it was an actual fire that was used in winter. Joey had thought that was rather odd—being underground, they should be at a constant temperature no matter what the weather.

"Moll? Hey Moll!"

"Just a minute!" she shouted from the bedroom behind the living area.

Joey stepped inside and walked over to the mantle. There were dozens of framed photographs. A number were of her and her parents. One immediately caught his eye, though, and he picked it up. He gaped at it. It was of her, probably no older than 15, with a man he instantly recognized.

"Mohinder Suresh?!"

"Yep," she said. She was standing behind him, her arms crossed.

"THE Mohinder Suresh?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Do you know many Mohinder Sureshes?"

"You knew the guy who took down the Haitian?"

"He was like a father to me."

Joey shrugged and went to set it down. When he did, he caught another photo of a man in a police uniform. Though it was clearly very old, he could tell who it was.

"What the fuck?! You knew Director Parkman?!"

"He saved me from Sylar. Twice. Now would you stop messing with my pictures? What the hell made you think you could even come in here!"

"You left the door open," he said, setting the picture down, "Lesson One, Molly: Always secure your surroundings." He glanced down at the fireplace, "I still don't see why we have these. Wouldn't the smoke be a dead giveaway?"

"Would you belive me if I told you it was a secret passage?"

He turned around to look at her, "I would, actually."

"Then you'd be a moron," she smiled and winked at him, "Peter designed these, I think. He probably seems like a tough bastard to you, but he's really just a HUGE sap. He thinks it's homey or something."

Joey blinked, "Right."

After a moment of silence, she gestured towards the door, "So let's go, then."

* * *

Peter opened his door, "You guys can come in now."

Molly and Joey entered the room. Molly went first, almost tiptoeing. Joey, on the other hand, almost ran into the room.

Joe Henderson and Peter were standing beside the door. Molly smiled and gave Henderson a sloppy salute, "Sarge!"

Henderson laughed. He had trained both of them in various martial arts. Training was his primary job—he possessed photographic reflexes and was a master in dozens of arts.

He returned the salute. "Hello Molly. Crane."

"Sir," Joey nodded his head and turned towards the paintings.

The room was now dominated by a ring of seven paintings. The first painting, which was sitting on top of the desk, was a canvas almost totally black, with a green-white flash center-bottom. Upon closer inspection, one could see it was a missile being launched from a ground pad. A strange, lozenge-shaped aircraft flew overhead.

The second was of a man in what looked like an old-fashioned police interrogation room. A man in a military uniform was standing at a control console holding a clipboard. Another man was sitting in a chair in the room. A greenish gas was filling the room.

The third was of a disheveled man standing in a control room of some sort. An indeterminable number of mutilated corpses lay at his feet.

The fourth was of a teenage boy dressed in all black, standing on top of a stack of file folders the size of a small house.

The fifth was a shot of a number of aircraft in flight. There were three small aircraft which looked somewhat like jet engines floating on their own, with their intakes pointing up. They were surrounding a large, triangular, black aircraft, one near each corner. The aircraft were flying over the desert. The radial street pattern of SG City was visible off in the distance. The main aircraft was banking off in its general direction.

The sixth was of the President, Stefan James, sitting at his Oval Office desk. A person, visible only as a shadow, was pointing a gun at him. Surprisingly, the President was totally calm, literally twiddling his thumbs.

The seventh and final painting was of two men in military uniforms handing a suitcase over to a man.

Molly stood in front of the final painting, "Son of a BITCH! Winters is selling us out?!"

"Looks like it," Joey said, standing behind her. Winters didn't look scared at all by the people he was talking to, so it wasn't any form of extortion.

Molly turned towards the second painting, "And why does he look familiar, too?"

"Because he is," Peter said, "That's Hank Revere."

"And they're killing him?"

"Testing him," Henderson said, holding up what looked like a brand-new book, "According to this, a 'Colonel Ye' is in the room, and he is gassing him with the main biological agent in the FGR-207 rocket. This says the test will be successful in shutting of Hank's power for a period of approximately twenty-four hours."

Henderson handed Molly the book. According to the cover, it was _Warm Nights In Cuba_ by Isabel Juarez.

"A romance novel?"

"That's what I wrote," Peter explained, "I had it put in a cover that wouldn't rouse suspicion. About half the pages are fake, too. Fillers."

Joey looked over Molly's shoulder. Molly was flipping through the book. It was filled largely with text but with some diagrams and maps interspersed.

"I had the original paper digitized and turned into text," Peter continued, "Don't worry, I checked to make sure it worked all right."

Molly handed the book over her shoulder to Joey.

"Um, who's Hank?" he asked.

"Prospective agent from SGC, seventeen years old," Molly said, walking over towards one of the other paintings, "He's a wallcrawler."

She stared at the fourth painting, "You're involving Matt in this!"

"Apparently," Henderson said.

"He's barely fourteen!"

"Matt? Who's Matt?" Joey asked, walking towards the painting. The kid looked familiar in an odd way.

"Look, if that's what the painting says…" Peter began.

"I don't give a FUCK what the painting says, you're NOT involving him in this!"

Peter put a hand on her shoulder, "Molly, I know you feel that he'll not have a life if he lives with the Fellowship, but he won't have a life if he doesn't. Besides, he'll be able to go home to Janice when this is over."

Molly's shoulders slumped, "You just used a power on me, didn't you? Damn you, Peter." She sighed, "Alright, I give up. I don't want to, but I'm going to."

Peter shook his head, "I didn't use anything on you." He didn't think he did, at any rate.

"Right," Molly rolled her eyes and turned back to the painting, "You can't just absorb his power for him?"

"Read the book, Molly. That's the only real answer I can give you. We need Parkman on this, Molly. Trust me."

"Parkman?" Joey gasped, "Damn, he looks a lot like his father."

Molly shrugged, "Fine. But I'm supervising him."

"Of course. Your practically his family, Molly. I wasn't going to suggest anything otherwise."

"Good!" She walked towards another painting and began flipping through the book, "So. What are all these planes?"

"Ah!" Henderson ran over to the fifth painting, "The main aircraft here is the SR-91 Aurora. It's a Mach 7 or so aircraft first built in the nineties. As far as I know, its existence is STILL classified. The others are QA-10 drones. These were still only theoretical when I was thrown out, but if I recall things correctly, they were initially intended as reconnaissance aircraft, but these look like they've been modified for an attack role."

"What sort of an attack role?" Joey asked.

Henderson pointed at some small flanges at the bottoms of each craft, and a series of vertical, raised housings, "These look like missile launchers to me. The craft would tilt at an angle, about forty-five degrees, and fire them. The added angle is there to give the missiles more area to maneuver."

"So this is the attack," Molly said, lightly touching the painting.

"The preliminary phase, actually. May I?" Henderson gestured for the book. Molly handed it over. Henderson flipped through the book, "Here! The attack pictured here is the first phase in a multipronged attack. The planes here are to mist the city with the FGR-207 gas." He frowned.

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"In a missile, an 'F' signifies that the missile is shoulder launched."

"I remember this from the documents I scanned last week," Joey said, "The 'F' designation is there to fool Congress or something. I think it was originally intended for a rocket-launcher, but Maslarak said he was modifying it."

Peter nodded, "That's it."

"Okay," Henderson said, "It was something that was bugging me. Anyway, this book says phase one is to gas the city, immobilizing us for about twenty-four hours. The second phase entails a squadron of F-35's launching dozens upon dozens of missiles on the city. The final phase is a tank and ground attack to 'pick off' the survivors."

"I see," Molly whispered. She hadn't taken her eyes off of the painting.

"And this?" Joey gestured at the painting on the desk, "Is this part of the attack, too?"

"The whole setup is more reminiscent of testing," Henderson said.

"Right."

Molly looked at the sixth painting, "A presidential assassination. BIG surprise," she rolled her eyes, "Does your book give any reason why he'd be so calm?"

"Or who's going to shoot him?" Joey asked.

"The book is focused almost solely on the logistics of the attack," Peter said, "and several possible outcomes. The president is barely mentioned."

Molly rolled her eyes, "Figures."

"Least it makes life more interesting," Joey kidded.

"Shove it, Joe," Molly muttered, "What about psycho-kid here?"

"That," Peter said, pointing at the third painting, "is the guy you heard Maslarak talking about earlier, Barry North. The kid sent to Guantanamo at eleven."

"Right. Shit," she whispered. She turned towards him suddenly, throwing her arms wide, "Why isn't there anything about Sylar in here?"

"I don't pick my subjects, Molly," Peter said, "But according to the book he won't reveal himself until the week of the attack."

"Well? Let me see it!"

Henderson opened the book to the relevant page and handed it to her.

"'Sylar dropped his illusion,' blah, blah, blah…" she skimmed the pages around it, flipping back and forth, "This is worthless."

"Well, can't you just find him?" Joey asked.

"I've tried," Molly said, snapping the book shut, "His illusion power screws things up. It's psychically confusing, I think because he is essentially identifying himself as another person in every manner possible, visually as well as mentally. He might even be consciously blocking me somehow. I only detected him because I felt what I can only describe as a murderous lust when Barry here was mentioned."

Peter stared at her a moment, "All right. No Sylar. I'll see what I can do about it."

"Thank you," Molly said, visibly relieved.

"So!" Peter clapped his hands, "You guys have new orders. I want you to go after Winters."

"So I'm done tracking Maslarak?"

"No," Peter said, "But that's secondary. You guys are going to follow him. Find who's paying him off, then bring him in."

Molly nodded, "Sir."

"Is that it?" Joey asked.

"For now. I'm going to have Byron work on more writings, and then I'm going to go to India to pursue another avenue of defense."

"Claude?" Molly smiled.

"Yes, Claude's top-secret mission."

"And I'm going to be training the City's residents in hand-to-hand combat." Henderson said.

"Well, you're the best," Molly looked at him, "Are you being quiet about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you guys never mentioned any 'excuse' Maslarak would offer to the American public for wiping us out. Couldn't he claim we were planning an attack?"

Henderson shifted uncomfortably, "I've been VERY discreet about the training, though I'll admit I hadn't thought of that."

"I haven't been able to see any sort of public justification," Peter said, "The whole thing, though, including the assassination here, has a sort of 'coup d'etat' vibe."

"Right. Nazi-style takeover. _Sieg heil_," Molly muttered sarcastically.

"Well, not quite. The Nazis actually won in a legitimate election but then dissolved the democratic government."

Molly smiled, "I didn't ask, Sarge."

"No, but I told." He chuckled. Molly gave him a look, "Military humor, Moll."

"Right," she turned to Peter, "So, trail and takedown?"

Peter frowned, "Don't shoot to kill, Molly."

Molly turned towards the painting of the betrayal. "I'll try."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter X: Search!**

Somewhere in India

Tuesday, May 18, 2021

Jyothis waited patiently, hands folded behind his back, while Dr. Shenoy read his report. She finally set the papers down, biting her lip.

"You made yourself out to be a much better sniper than this indicates, Jyothis."

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I was not informed that Mr. Rains had the skills to anticipate that—"

"He was British Special Forces, Jyothis."

"A fact of which I was not informed," he said, bobbing very slightly on his heels, "I was also not informed that Mr. Iyer could put me to sleep."

"_That_ we didn't know. Still, you should have anticipated it."

Jyothis wanted to ask just HOW he could have anticipated such a thing with as mch sarcasm as he could muster. But he didn't. It didn't seem proper to him.

"You must kill Iyer before he leaves the country. Do you have any idea how important that is?"

"Yes ma'am."

Shenoy frowned, and pulled a laminated card out of her dwarer, "You are now S. Chidambaram Jyothis. You are going to infiltrate the Hyderabad office and you WILL kill Iyer. And Rasihamatijan, if you can."

Jyothis accepted the ID card. He studied the photo on it before morphing his face to match it.

"Is that the whole of my mission?"

"Collect intelligence if you can," she said, pulling something else out of the drawer, "This is a 50 gig flash drive. Download as much as you can. I trust that you know what is important?"

Jyothis ignored the sarcasm, "Of course." Still, Mira explained anyway.

"A driver is waiting outside to take you to Hyderabad," she said, pointing at the door, "He already has the things you will need. I want your job done within three days. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." Jyothis nodded stiffly.

"Then get going!" Jyothis saluted, spun on his heels, and left her office.

As she had said, a car was waiting outside. The car was marked with government plates and was a rather new, European model.

Jyothis sat in the back seat. The driver, a rather pale American immigrant, nodded at him through the mirror, saying, "The suitcase is yours, sir. The switch there opens and closes the partition."

"Very good," Jyothis said, "Thank you." He flipped the switch. A few moments after he did, he felt the car lurch forward. Only then did he open the suitcase. He examined the contents, and then closed it. It contained all that he would need.

* * *

Peter beamed into Hyderabad late that evening, carrying snapshots of the paintings and a copy of the Written Prophecy, which dealt more with events in India than did the paintings.

Peter managed to secure the use of a conference room to speak with Claude. Claude was one of only a handful of people on Earth who knew the truth about what happeed November 8, 2006. Peter had managed—not without some difficulty—to begin forgiving Claude for bailing on him that October. Having access to what was left of Primatech's archives meant he knew what would have happened to Claude if they had captured him. He also knew from his mind that he thought there wouldn't BE an explosion: he thought it was part of an elaborate ruse to learn what he knew about SG's then capture him.

So he had moved on. Claude may not have been willing to become an "administrator" in the capacity that Peter (and, to a greater extenct, Kimiko and Heidi) were, but his expertise was extensive and meant it was rather necessary to keep him around.

"We can do it," Claude whispered, "Amita's li'l mind editing trick is easy enough, and we can funnel it through Sanjog. There may be, she says, a 'short window of time' before it reverses itself. I'm not too sure, thoough."

"What?"

Claude blushed a little, "She pulled it on me, mate. Made me think everyone was so nice and wonderful. You know, got rid of all the 'cynicism.' I don't think I would've wanted her to change me back if she hadn't done it herself."

Peter smiled, "That'd be a shame."

Clauude glared at him, "Sorry I'm such a bother. Anyway, she can edit Tarkin easy."

"I'm sorry, 'Tarkin'?"

"The general. He looks like that guy who ran the Death Star in _Star Wars_. You never gave me his name, you know."

"Robert Maslarak. I didn't think I should use it over phone."

"Bloody hell Peter, you got Hana's power, didn't you? You can see any hackers coming!"

Peter shrugged, "Doesn't matter. I'm sure he wouldn't like being called after the Butcher of Alderaan."

Claude shook his head, "You a fan, mate?"

Peter suddenly started pacing about the desk, "It doesn't matter, I guess. We've got a bigger problem."

"What?"

Peter stared at the desk, biting his lip and shaking his head, "Sylar. Molly saw Sylar."

"WHAT?!" Claude suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, "You said you killed him!"

Peter wriggled loose, "I _thought_ I killed him. His illusory power must be more extensive than I thought it was."

"Bloody fucking hell, Peter! Bloody mother fucking HELL!! You're telling me Sylar's been running loose for the past five years!"

Peter glared at him and let out a low breath. Claude felt his anger dissipate. "That's dirty fighting, Peter," he grumbled.

"I need you to think clearly, okay?"

"I'm gonna think clearly when you've hopped me up on this power of yours?"

"I don't think Sylar's been killing. No one's gone missing."

"Think, Peter," Claude crooned—crooned!— in a tone that disgusted him and would've made him hate Peter's power even more if such a thing were possible while it was being used, "You're gonna notice if a kid disappears in America. Hell, in Britain, Europe, India, or Japan. What about Africa? We don't have operations there, Peter."

Peter sat down in a swivel chair and spun around idly, "Right. Africa. Didn't think about there."

"Of course you didn't," Claude noted. Normally, this would've been a sarcastic note, but since Peter had "calmed" him it had been robbed of its "bite."

"Africa. Hm." Peter leaned back and tapped on the table.

"Where is he now?"

"Huh? Well, I've been keeping a low-level track on him. He hasn't left the base yet. I suppose I could be more specific."

"Please do, Peter."

Peter sat up and sighed, "You're actually ANNOYING like this." He waved his hand and Claude took a deep breath. His eye was twitching and he was gritting his teeth.

"I've. Had. Enough. Of. People messing with my bloody mind. I'm more pissed now, you know."

Peter shrugged and leaned back in the chair again, taking a deep breath.

Locating someone was a rather weird process, partly because he rarely did it. Even though he frequently stopped time relative to himself to do things (like sleep), he still had a schedule.

He thought about his frequent time-stopping. _How old am I?_ he thought. He was certainly older than the 41 his birthday suggested.

He pushed it aside and focused on Sylar. Locating was something like astral projection, sending his spirit out towards the person, watching them and their environment. At the same time, he knew the name and geographic coordinates of where the person was. It wasn't as if he saw it, or heard it, he just KNEW.

He saw the whole of Nuremberg Air Force Base. He wasn't flying over it, he could just see it all at once and somehow make sense of it. Lately, he had just been stopping at this level, just to be sure Sylar was still there.

He willed himself closer to Sylar.

He felt himself move down the hallways. They were, to him, empty, but they probably weren't in reality. Unlike Molly, he had yet to see other people in these visions. Even he had his limits.

He found himself standing in a modest bedroom. Sylar was sitting on te edge of the bed, flipping lazily through a stack of papers.

Peter leaned his psychic self over to look at the papers. The one on the top was labeled "Iriba, Chad."

Sylar looked up and around the room. He stopped and stared in Peter's general direction.

Peter tensed. Sylar seemed to relax and took a deep breath.

He smiled and said, "Hello, Peter."

Peter gasped. Sylar was suddenly standing and reached out towards him. Peter's vision blurred and he felt a sort of draw towards Sylar.

_Peter. Peter._

"What do you think Peter?" he heard Sylar ask, "This is a new one of mine."

_Peter. Peter!_

Claude's voice impinged on the edge of his mind. He shot out a beam of intense psychic energy at Sylar, but saw it dissipate.

"Don't try to fight it Peter. Sometimes those with power meet pathetic ends."

_The universe isn't that lame_. A voice echoed across time and memory. Who said that to him? He was having trouble remembering.

He tried focusing sheer will at fighting him, but he felt things slip away faster.

_Peter! Peter! PETER!!_

He had a sudden epiphany and focused on Claude's voice. He felt Sylar and his world retreat back into distant America with a small cry of anger from Sylar.

Peter sat up with a loud gasp. Claude was shaking him.

"What happened?! You were having some sort of seizure mate!"

"Sylar," Peter panted, looking around the room. He was now on the floor, "He saw me! He saw me!"

"What? How?" Claude started shaking him again, "Wait! Peter!"

Peter had fallen to the floor, struggling to breathe, "Wait, Claude. I'll be—" He began drawing air to himself psychically, "—fine."

"You sure? I called for—"

"What's happening?" Peter heard Nirand and several others enter the room.

"Psychic shock," Claude said, standing up, "S—A hostile tried invading his mind."

"What hostile?" A man Peter didn't recognize knelt down beside him.

"Classified!" Peter tried to shout. The man heard him fortunately, and made some sort of noise in dissaproval.

"Well, I could know something about him, couldn't I?" the man muttered.

"Multiple powers," Peter said, "No known history of mind control. Really, I'm fine!" And he sat up.

The man—Dr. Rambastiran, according to his nametag—was holding something that looked like a doctor's ear light, "I should try—"

"No!" Peter stood up and said, "I am perfectly capable of fixing myself. Everyone out! Everyone out!"

He shooed the doctors away, but grabbed Claude's arm and prevented him from leaving. Not that the old man would have anyway.

"Do you know anything about someone who could rip people out of their minds?"

Claude sat down and put his hand on his forehead, "I remember Molly telling me about someone who could see her when she was told to find him. She didn't say much about it, but I always though she was talking about Maury Parkman."

"The founder?" Peter sat down across from him, "I know he had mind control, but mind-ripping?"

Claude shrugged, "Well, what else happened? What did you see mate?"

Peter rubbed his eyes, "Something about Chad and Sudan. Iriba, Chad."

"Told you he was in Africa." Claude put a hand on his shoulder, "Peter, you should go see someone to make sure Sylar hasn't messed with you. Go see Ami, she'd know. 'Sides, she's quite a looker. That'd cheer you up, right?"

Peter shrugged, "Fine, fine. You have seen Niki though, right?"

"Hard to forget her, mate."

Peter laughed, "Well, I need to meet her anyway, and Sanjay."

"Sanjog."

"Right." Peter stood up, "Lead the way."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter XI: The Pursuit**

Ashby, Nebraska

Wednesday, May 19, 2021

Jeff Winters casually flipped through the items on display in front of the "Finest" convenience store, pausing only to pick up a copy of the _Grant County Gazette_.

Molly glared at him through her binoculars. She and Joey were situated in their car across the street in an alley.

"What's taking so long?" Joey asked from the driver's seat. He was taking notes in a tablet PC.

"He's reading the paper," Molly said, not taking her eyes off Winters.

A few more minutes passed. A young woman walked up to Winters and began talking to him.

"Well, hello," Molly whispered, pushing the slider on the right side of the binoculars. When she had zoomed in on the woman, she snapped a picture.

The woman's head snapped towards them.

"Mother of God, don't tell me she has Hana's power," Molly whispered, reaching for her gun.

But the woman shrugged it off and went back to talking to Winters.

"What? What's happening?" Joey asked.

Molly told him what happened, "Can you send her picture to HQ?"

"Just a sec," he muttered, typing a few things.

Molly turned back to Winters and the woman, who had moved close together and were talking in what looked like conspiratorial tones..

"They're moving," Molly said after a moment. She set her binoculars down, turned around, and slumped back in her seat. She closed her eyes, breathed out, and focused on them, "There walking down Gage Street now. There's a car in an alley. Good lord, it must be from the nineties."

"Mm," Joey muttered, "Moll, no one on shift in HQ right now recognizes her."

"That's nice, Joe. They're in the car and it's going south down Main Street towards Railroad Drive."

Joey started the engine, silencing it with his power, "Tell me when we should go."

Molly was silent for a moment, "They're going west along Railroad Drive. They're passing Third Street and heading through the residential neighborhood."

"I'm on it," Joey said, backing them out of the alley and onto Ashby Street.

Molly psychically followed them to an abandoned motel on the edge of town. Joey parked them a few blocks away—close enough to intercept, but far away enough to not be seen.

_The woman slammed a large suitcase on the hood and opened it. Winters reached in and pulled out a stack of fresh 100 euro bills._

"_I'm glad you're not trying to pass off American currency on me."_

"_Maslarak may be moronically blind in his patriotism, but I'm not. I know the dollar is worthless."_

_Winters nodded and reached for a CD in his jacket pocket._

"Gotcha!" Molly whispered.

Joey gunned the engine and sped the car towards them. Molly pulled her gun and took off her seatbelt, preparing to leap out of the car.

They skidded to a halt in the abandoned parking lot.

The woman was gone. Winters was standing there in shock, holding the CD. Molly jumped out of the car and aimed her gun.

"GET DOWN!! _GET DOWN!!_"

Winters dropped the CD. Molly shoved him to the ground.

"WHERE'S THE GIRL?!" she shouted right into his ear.

Suddenly, she was awash with the worst feeling of despair she had ever felt. The death of her parents was dwarfed by it. Everything began to seem so utterly, utterly pointless. She wanted to give up everything. She felt herself begin to slip away into oblivion, and she welcomed it. It would be so much better.

There was a high-pitched squeal and she felt the world and sanity return.

She looked up. Joey's lips were pursed in a whistle.

"It didn't hurt you, did it?" he asked. Molly shook her head. He pointed at Winters, "He'll be out a while, though. Days, perhaps."

"What did you DO?"

"Focused sound waves that made tsunamis in his inner ear. World's worst case of dizziness. And you?"

"I don't really know," she said after a short miment, "It was like I was being killed by depression."

"That's odd. Didn't suspect he could do that."

"Me neither."

"So where's the girl?"

Molly's brow furrowed, "I don't know."

"What? Is she dead?"

Molly shook her head, "I'd still be able to find her. I can find corpses. Jimmy Hoffa, for instance."

"Really?"

"West Falls, Wisconsin, underneath the north bridge of—"

Joey waved his arms, "Never mind. So she's just…gone?" Molly nodded. Joey shrugged, "I'll call a bag team for Winters. We'll have to figure this out later."

Joey made a call. Seconds later, two people teleported into the scene. The first was a tall brunette woman with short hair, had her hand on the other's shoulder. The man, also a brunette, held a white suitcase.

"What's the deal, Joe?" he asked.

"Rogue agent, Harry. Knocked him down with the sonic whistle."

"Joy," he muttered. He opened his suitcase, removing a first aid kit, "Think he's safe to teleport, Tracy?"

"Yeah," the woman said. To Molly, "Do you guys need to be taken back to the office?"

"That'd be a good idea," Molly said.

"Then we should get him in the car," Tracy said, nodding her head towards it, "I can take the whole thing."

Harry and Joey lifted up Winters and put him in the back seat. Harry sat in the back with him, while Molly and Joey took the front. Tracy put her hand on the hood, closed her eyes, and an instant later they were in the garage of the Utah Office.

* * *

Molly sat on the floor in front of her fireplace, gazing at the flickering flames. She exhaled slowly, touching the tips of her fingers to the floor. 

She repeated the breathing exercise several times before her eyes fluttered and she entered the strange dreamspace where her clairvoyance existed.

She focused on the woman. A picture of her appeared clearly in her mind. She was suddenly hit with a torrent of information:

_Isabelle Julienne Green, born Monday, June 22, 1998, 3:41 AM, Samaritan-Paul General Hospital, Green Lake, Nevada to Marsha Elle Hoxworth Green and —_

It just kept coming. She had never experienced anything like it. The information was oddly flat and lifeless, like a database.

Molly tried to push it aside and focus on the location of the woman.

_Isabelle Julienne Green, born Monday, June 22, 1998, 3:41 AM, Samaritan-Paul General Hospital, Green Lake, Nevada to Marsha Elle Hoxworth Green and —_

Molly pushed it aside again and focused on Joey. She now saw actual, real-time images, like she normally did. He was clearly in his quarters, playing an old computer game. Something like Halo 3.

When she turned back to the woman—Isabelle, presumably—she got the same psychic data stream.

With disgust, she let it all go. She felt herself return to the world. Exhaling slowly, she stretched, keeping her fingers on the floor.

"Shit," she whispered.

A few minutes later, she had fully reestablished herself on the corporeal plane. She got up and walked over to Joey's.

Joey answered the door a few moments after she knocked, "Yes?"

"Something weird just happened."

"Something weird."

"Mm."

They stood there for a moment.

Joey brushed back his hair, "Well, come in." Joey closed the door behind her, then went to his room to shut off his computer, "I was playing Halo 3."

"I didn't think that was ever released."

"It wasn't." Joey sat on the couch next to her, "So. What's the weird something?"

Molly told him what had happened, explaining how the meditation helped "widen" her abilities and what she had expected to see. When she finished, Joey glanced over at the fireplace, "I always thought there was a reason why we had fireplaces underground."

"Joe…"

"Right, right. Well, what am I supposed to do? I'm the rookie, remember?"

Molly frowned, "I thought you'd have an idea."

"Nothing beyond calling Peter."

Molly rolled her eyes, "He's in India. With Claude. How are we supposed to get him here?"

"Click our heels together three times and chant, 'There's no place like home'?"

She laughed, "You become more of a smart-ass every day, Joe. We should call Peter, but I'm thinking about Rudolph Kane."

"Kane? He's a power expert? I was thinking Hal Sharp."

Molly shook her head, "Sharp's got super intelligence, but he works with machines. Kane's something like 400 years old, right? I doubt there's _anything_ he doesn't know."

"Well, where is he?"

Molly closed her eyes. She received an image of an apparently middle-aged man jogging on a mountain trail, "China."

"China. Well, I suppose we could get Tracy, but she and Harry are out on assignment right now. Are you sure we can't figure this out without Kane or Sharp or Peter?"

Molly rested her head on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, "I can't believe I snapped my sight when I saw him handing it over."

"'Snapped my sight?'"

"There was no place to hide except for maybe that motel," she continued, "But it was just Winters. I've never NOT been able to find someone."

Molly sighed. Joey didn't say anything.

"I keep getting this information set," she said after a while, "It's like a psychic database. It's like that's where she is." She sat back up suddenly, as if she had been hit in the back.

"Holy shit!" she shouted.

"What? What is it?"

"Joe, what happened to that CD Winters was holding?"

Joey scratched his head, "I think it's still in Evidence. Why?"

"Joe, it's incredibly important that that CD isn't exposed to ANY computer! Joe, we need to get it from Evidence and to Sharp."

"What do you—hey!" Molly grabbed his arm and began leading him out into the hallway, "What the hell is going on, Moll?"

"Joe, I think I know why we never found that girl. She's the CD, Joe. She put herself onto the CD and if we use it, we'll be putting her in our entire network. Okay? Everything we've ever worked for, every agent's identity, all our finances, EVERYTHING!"

Joey considered it. It made a sort of sense, "So now what do we do?"

"We HAVE to get that CD before Evidence decides to examine it's contents! If I'm right, everything depends on it! Let's go!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter XII: Strange Encounters**

_Rosette, Utah_

_Wednesday, May 19, 2021_

"SHARP!"

Hal Sharp jumped. Molly and Joey had run into the lab where he was working. Molly in particular seemed very upset.

"You scared the hell out of me!" Sharp shook his head and turned back to his microscope, "I have a bit of a backlog and haven't had a chance to look at that CD yet."

"That's good!" Molly stood next to Sharp.

Sharp didn't look up, "Why is that good?"

Molly grabbed the scope and pushed it away from him, "What do you know about digital abilities?"

"Walker, be careful with that! What's so important?"

"She thinks that someone might be stored on that CD," Joey said.

"SomeONE?" Sharp raised an eyebrow, "With training, a person who possessed digital communication could digitize themselves, in theory."

"Where's the CD?"

"Evidence locker 8," Sharp stood up as Molly walked over to the locker, "What are you doing?"

Molly took the CD from the locker, "Could you pull data off this if it was broken?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Joey! Prepare yourself!"

"Molly..." Joey braced himself.

Molly took a deep breath and snapped the disk in half. There was a bright yellow flash and the woman flew out of it in the general direction of Sharp's desk.

Joey shouted and tackled her, grabbing her left arm and holding it behind her back. The woman, using her other hand, was able to grab Joey's arm and throw him. She leapt up and bolted for the door.

Molly tried to grab her shirt, but the woman spun around on one foot and kicked her in the face.

The woman ran out into the hallway. Molly regained her footing and opened a panel outside the door, then pulled a switch. Alarms sounded and a voice calmly announced "Emergency lockdown in progress."

The woman looked up as if to find the source of the voice, and ran headlong into a barrier that had sealed off the hallway.

Molly walked over and felt the woman's pulse. Once she was sure the woman was unconscious, she returned to her panel and placed her palm on a scanner. Once her identity was confirmed, she activated the intercom, "Enemy agent located and unconscious outside Evidence Room. Agent able to store herself digitally and is in my opinion extremely dangerous."

"Message received," said a voice on the other end, "A bag team is on its way. Please stay there to file report."

"I know the procedure," Molly snapped, switching off the intercom.

A large, metal door had sealed off the evidence room. Molly entered a code and a door opened.

"What the hell was that, Walker?" Sharp shouted.

"She's an agent for General Maslarak who—"

"I mean snapping the disk!"

"You could've given me a hint of what you were planning," Joey said.

Molly shook her head and turned as one of the bulkheads opened and Harry and Tracy walked through.

Tracy knelt next to the woman, "She level 5 material, you think?"

"We probably shouldn't take any chances," Joey said.

Tracy shook her head, "She's got a nasty bruise on her head, probably a concussion."

Harry opened his first-aid kit, "We'll take her to the med center. She's a digital, you say?"

"She stored herself in a CD," Molly said.

"We'll put shielding in the lab, then," Harry said. He pulled out a walkie-talkie and began issuing orders. After a moment, he said, "They'll have it ready in ten minutes. We should probably sedate her to be safe in the interim."

"Sounds good to me," Tracy said.

Zach Jennings entered the hallway and pointed at Joey, Molly, and Sharp, "Alright, I'm here to take your reports. Y'all need to be in Conference in ten minutes."

The three nodded and Zach turned and left.

"She's gonna be under for half an hour," Harry said, "I'm ready to teleport."

Tracy nodded and they beamed out of the hallway.

* * *

_Hyderabad, India_

_Thursday, May 20, 2021 (local time)_

Ami removed her pinky and thumb from Peter's temples, "Your mind is smooth, Mr. Petrelli."

Peter sat up, "What's that mean?"

"It means that he didn't put anything in your brain. He was just trying to kill you."

Peter nodded, and swung his head towards Claude, "Don't say 'I told you so.'"

"I wasn't going to, mate."

"Claude? I can read minds."

Sanjog cleared his throat, "Shouldn't we discuss what we are going to do now?"

Peter slid off of the exam bed, "Well, this changes everything. Its far to dangerous to get you in Maslarak's head."

"So Sylar is Maslarak?" Sanjog asked.

"Well—actually, I'm not sure," Peter said, "And I don't really know how to find out, now."

"Did you see anything else in his quarters?" Claude asked.

Peter snapped his fingers, "I think the room number was 403. I'll have to check the map back in my office."

"So what do we do?" Ami asked.

"We'll think of something. Keep practicing your powers—we might be able to get you through someone else."

"Right. How much time do we have?"

"The attack is scheduled for June 19, a Sunday. I think you guys should take a few days to get prepared, for us to discuss things further, with Chandrasekhar and Prakasam. Besides, I need to go to Africa."

"Africa?" Sanjog asked, "Why?"

"Sylar's going to kill someone there soon. My vision included a folder with the name of a city in Chad. I don't know who or what he's after, and I don't want to wait to find out."

Peter's phone rang. He held up a finger to ask for quiet and turned away from the others to answer it, "Yes?"

"Peter, it's Elle," the voice on the other end was full of static, "Can you hear me?"

"Well enough. Are you in Manitoba?"

"Yeah, and we were right about Oak. He has a biological ability."

"Well, okay, but I'm a little busy right now."

Elle let out an annoyed sigh, "Peter, Oak's a Situation Fourteen."

Peter nearly dropped the phone, "Are you sure?"

There was silence on the other end. Peter heard a rush of air behind him and the others gasped. Peter turned around.

Elle was standing between Peter and the others. Her hand was on the shoulder of a short, balding man with a mustache and glasses.

Elle closed her phone, "I'm pretty sure, Pete."

Claude cleared his throat, "Well, that was unexpected."

* * *

_Topeka, Kansas_

_Wednesday, May 19, 2021 (local time)_

He was surprised that he had gotten this far in so short a time. He was lucky to have found the stash of bills — 100 billion worth, 100 adjusted for inflation — hidden under that bridge in St. Louis. He was glad he didn't have to kill someone to get money for the bus fares west.

The information he had retrieved a few days earlier from Wright-Patterson in Ohio pointed to a parts manufacturer on the outskirts of town. The FGR-207 "Fire Hand" was in large part manufactured here.

There was security around the main part of the plant, but he was able to enter the plant from the entrance to the public offices. Using his powers to bust the cameras from the inside, he was able to enter the "secure" parts of the plant.

He waited until after dark, and then entered the warehouse. He searched the parts until he found what he needed: a small, cylindrical part with four nubs halfway down, sticking out at right angles and arranged at right angles to each other. There were five in the small drawer. He took them all and put them in his pocket.

He walked calmly towards the door. A man in a black overcoat appeared, apparently from the darkness, blocking the way.

"Hello, Barry," the man said.

"How do you know my name?" Barry shook his head, "Never mind. Get out of my way. I don't want to hurt you."

Barry was thrown into the far wall without anything touching him. The man levitated a few inches off the floor and floated closer.

Barry regained his footing and evacuated the air from the room. The man shook his head, "That really isn't good enough."

The man came into the moonlight and Barry was able to see his face. He had only been six years old when he first saw it, but no American could ever forget it.

"Sylar!" he shouted as he was thrown against the wall.

"Nice to meet you, too," Sylar said, raising his finger and slicing the side of Barry's skull.

With all his strength, Barry summoned all the air in the room and concentrated it around Sylar. Sylar screamed as the pressure increased.

With a loud pop Sylar's chest collapsed in on itself. Barry slid down the wall when Sylar released his grip. Calling all the air in the room under his feet, Barry was propelled up through the glass roof and into the sky, dripping blood from the cut in the side of his head.

By the time Sylar's chest had healed, Barry was long gone.

Sylar ran to the open drawer. When he found it to be empty, he hurled it into a wall telekinetically in anger, where it shattered. Sylar then stared up at the broken ceiling.

"You know," he whispered, "In some ways I've missed having a challenge. Don't think you can hide forever, Barry. I am, ultimately, invincible. Don't think you can escape."

END


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter XIII: Be On Target**

Hyderabad, India  
Thursday, May 20, 2021 (IST)

"You know, I've always wanted to do that."

Peter had asked for privacy while he talked to Elle and Oak. The others had initially objected, but Peter had told them the presence of other powers would inhibit him while talking to Oak and "measuring" his powers. However, this was only partially true, as he was also anxious for the others to leave.

Elle was staring casually at one of her hands, "I feel different, you know? Like, there's some sort of this flow going through me now. It's almost as if I'm gonna shock someone, but...it's just not the same feeling."

"You're probably feeling the lines of the space-time field," Oak said. "You'll probably get used to it."

Peter grunted, "How did you manage teleportation, Mr. Oak? Had you encountered anyone with that ability?"

"No." Oak took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. He continued, "I actually haven't met another powered-person before Ms. Bishop, I believe. I created the power basically by trial-and-error.

"Ms. Bishop specifically asked for teleportation. Obviously, TP boils down to the bending and breaking of space. Thus, I tested out basic genetic sequences present in Ms. Bishop's DNA to find an activation that would bend space; this I could do very quickly, without activating each gene one at a time and having her test them. Once that was done, I mentally calculated which specific activation would result in TP. I'm rather proud that I got it on the first try."

He let out a chuckle that sounded a bit like a squeak, "I'm sorry if I sound a bit long-winded. I used to be a physicist at Toronto, you know, and this stuff brings it out in me, I guess."

"It's all right," Peter said. He leaned over across the table, "Can you create _anything_?"

"I would certainly like to think so," Oak said with a proud smile.

"How can you be sure?" Elle asked, "I'm glad I trusted you, now that I know it _works_, but you said that it's both something you've never tried before and that activation is a bit random."

"I only said that there were 'potential variations in activation'," Oak said, quoting himself.

Elle frowned, "Well, you said you had never met anyone else with abilities."

"But it doesn't mean that you haven't used your powers before, right?" Peter said with some sarcasm.

Oak blushed, "Grahamdale is a small, small town. Everyone knows everybody. I thought I could trust people there so..." His words sounded forced, "I gave a few of my friends powers."

"Non-SGs?" Peter asked.

"Non-powered. Yes, of course. You seem upset."

Peter put his hand to his forehead and let it slowly slide down his face, "That's very dangerous."

"How so? Mr. Petrelli, I'm sure you know that Canada is much more progressive towards the rights of powered persons."

"That's not it." Peter glanced at Elle, "You haven't been fully debriefed on the new situation yet, right?"

Elle shook her head, "Was going to be, after I got this over," She jerked a thumb at Oak.

"Well..." Peter took a deep breath and explained the situation.

When he was done, Steve Oak's eyes were wide open. Elle seemed annoyed.

"Fantastic," she muttered.

"Do you have anything that tells you that this," Oak hesitated over the name, "Maslarak has gotten to Grahamdale?"

"No, but..." Peter shook it off, "Listen, Elle. Take him back to Canada. Oak, tell _every_ person you gave powers to _shut the hell up_!"

"Got it," they both said, simultaneously.

"Come back here when you're done. We're gonna need your help, Oak. We don't have the capacity to give powers anymore."

"I'll help in any way I can," Oak said.

Peter walked stepped outside and brought the others in.

"Okay," Peter said, "Oak's gonna need somewhere to stay here. I'm going to Africa now. Claude, Elle, take care of things. Get in touch with someone else if you need anything, unless things really go to hell, alright? Mr. Iyer, Ms. Rasihamatijan_,_ keep practicing. Everyone understand?"

When no one said no, Peter gave a simple nod and teleported away.

* * *

Hyderabad, India

Friday, May 21, 2021

The cafeteria at the Mohinder Suresh Genetic Sciences Center was, Claude was happy to learn, fully capable of serving food that was actually edible. Claude got a sort of lamb chop stew.

The cafeteria was a large room on an upper floor, with a row of windows along three of the walls. A large balcony rimmed the windows. Claude sat in a seat that was some distance from the windows.

A few moments later, Nirand entered and sat down across from Claude, unannounced. Claude didn't look up from his food.

"I see you discovered that the cafeteria is capable of meeting western tastes," he said.

Claude grunted, "It's somewhat English. Somewhat. Not bad, though."

Nirand pointed at his dish, which consisted largely of meat and rice, "You might want to try this sometime. Mutton _biryani_. It's a local thing."

Claude shrugged. Nirand took a PDA out of his coat pocket. "_Times of India_," he said.

Claude shook his head, "Online only? U.S. still uses paper. It's much cheaper."

Sanjog came in next, and after he got his meal Nirand offered him a seat.

"The Provisional Parliament opens today," Nirand said conversationally, "They say they are going to pass all the measures that were up before the attack."

"How they expect to do that without getting killed?" Claude asked with his mouth half full.

"They're meeting at a secret location under heavy guard," Nirand said. Quoting the paper directly, he continued, "'Charankar R. Tendulkar, widely considered the nation's finest diviner, is being employed to detect and predict any potential hostile events. The NIA stated that there are other, even more intense methods being used, but insist that those remain classified.'"

Nirand scrolled through the paper. "The paper says that the American Protection Party is going to introduce an impeachment resolution against President James."

"I don't know your politics," Sanjog said, "Who are they?"

"Fascists," Claude said. "A combo of racists and geneists. They're usually considered fringe, but they've elected congressmen and even a few senators from the northeast. James is from the Unity Party, which is pro-SG. Well, comparatively. An impeachment resolution isn't news. Tell me if they succeed, alright?"

Ami entered then. Nirand continued to talk about the news and stuck with local events. Claude mainly tuned them out and checked his watch. Damn! Elle and Oak had been gone for about eight hours. Grahamdale, Oak said, had no more than five hundred people, and maybe twelve with powers. What the hell was taking so long?!

He heard Sanjog say something. "What?"

Sanjog sounded annoyed (Claude thought that was a first) when he repeated the question, "How popular is the American president?"

Claude wiggled his hand in a so-so gesture, "He's got two parties opposing him, though, so the opposition's split. There's Protection, the loons you mentioned earlier, and then there's the People's Party, which are generally in favor of the current SG system. SG's are still the big political issue.

"Basically, the further you get from New York, the more likely it is that the Unity Party will win a given state. Since those are the most populous, they get more electoral votes." In anticipation of the question, he quickly explained the Electoral College.

He continued, "Basically, the Unity Party is a fusion of conservative and liberal groups that disagree on everything but SG freedom. That's where the name comes from. They came out during the Second War as anti-government. They ran the liberal Senator of Illinois with the conservative Governor of Alaska. Now they – " Claude laughed at himself. "I suppose I'm getting into too much detail. You were what, thirteen in 2012?"

"Seventeen," Sanjog said, again with annoyance.

"Well, my point is, Unity is a fusion of liberal group and conservatives. They agree _only_ on SG's, so any governments they head tend to be unstable and schizophrenic.

"President James is a total socialist. His Vice President, Mark Powell, is a religious fanatic. It's a true miracle that they get anything done."

"Is that the whole problem here?" Ami asked, "Is Maslarak going to tear the government apart?"

"No," Claude said, "Attacking SG's only brings them together. The long-term result is that the Army will show it can act independently of the government, and that puts the country on the road to a military dictatorship."

At that moment, Elle walked into the room, alone. She was holding something that she used to wave at the group.

"Well, that was quick!" Claude shouted. "You sure you did everything?"

"Yep!" Elle didn't seem to notice his sarcasm. She sat down at the table and offered a cheery "Good morning!"

All but Claude returned the gesture. Claude stared at her, first in surprise, then in puzzlement. He started to worry that she was about to pull something.

The thing she was holding was a TV dinner, which she heated using a single bolt of electricity from her finger, "All twelve of the guys Steve gave powers know the situation – well, as much as I could safely tell them – and they reported nothing suspicious."

"Where's Oak now?" Claude asked.

"Asleep. You can call it teleport lag, I guess. So, what's new here?"

Again, Claude tuned out the conversation. Elle was ringing alarm bells just by her demeanor — the absence of sarcasm was as hard to imagine as it would be in Claude — but Claude couldn't figure out why she would be acting like this.

Sanjog had finished eating. He got up and put his dishes on the dirty-dish conveyor belt that automatically took them into the kitchen, then said to the others, "I'm going to get some fresh air."

"Go ahead," Claude said. Sanjog stepped out onto the balcony.

* * *

"S. Chidambaram Jyothis" stood outside the entrance to the Mohinder Suresh Genetic Sciences Center, the building where Rains and Iyer were now residing. The building was quite large: fifty stories in all. In profile, the building looked like two rectangles, the top ten floors being thinner than the rest of the building.

Rather conveniently, considering his later plans, the Genetic Sciences Center was located directly across the street from the much taller R. Gupta Center, a seventy story office building.

Jyothis confidently strode into the main building. The GSC had much stronger security than most office buildings, but Jyothis's ID card indicated that he was an employee, and he was waved in without hesitation.

Jyothis couldn't help but smile at himself. Mira had clearly been thorough in her planning. According to his card, Jyothis had records in the main company computer and an office assigned. The technopath that Mira hired was evidently a good one.

Jyothis's office was on the thirty-fifth floor. It was cramped – he was supposedly a low-level employee – but it had a computer, and that was what mattered.

He knew that Yamagato's most sensitive information was stored on unnetworked computers, to prevent both hacking and infiltration by technopaths. Jyothis needed to find those computers.

Jyothis logged onto his "work" computer. Waiting for him was an IM from "Asthana08." The initial message was "I relay instructions from Dr Shenoy. Varun can see Everest from his backyard."

The last sentence was the code. Asthana08 was clearly the technopath.

_i am here asthana,_ Jyothis typed.

_it is abot time!_ Asthana08 wrote. _Ive been w8ing 4 U. Dr shenoy has obtained a 2nd identity 4 U. U R 2 use it to access the main computer._

A picture came onto the screen of a woman, with the name "Dr. Sarin Charak Kunder Amma." Jyothis morphed to match her.

_i have become dr sarin,_Jyothis wrote. _what are my further instructions?_

_follo these:_Jyothis read them.

_understood,_Jyothis wrote, _i will recontact you shortly._

Jyothis signed off and walked down to the main computer room. Two guards flanked the doors.

"Good morning, Amma!" the one on the left said.

_They're on a given name basis with her,_Jyothis thought to himself, _How fortunate._

Aloud, he/she said, "Good morning. Is anyone in the computer room?"

"Not at the moment, Amma," the right one said.

"Good. Listen, could you guys make sure no one bugs me while I'm in there? I've got to reevaluate the AT8 nucleokinesis gene sequence, and it's gonna be a big headache for me if I'm disturbed."

"Of course," the left one said, opening the door.

"Thank you, guys!" Jyothis/Amma said, stepping through the steel door. It closed behind him/her.

The main computer consisted of a single chair and terminal. The rest of the large room was filled by hard drives, chips, and other computer parts. To Jyothis's eye, it seemed rather outdated.

He sat down and opened the folder labeled "006." Plugging the flash drive into the computer, he quickly skimmed the files contained within: financiers of the organization, the location of Indian safe houses, information on how to "encourage" an SG to develop a desired ability, and personnel files.

Jyothis waited patiently as the slow computer copied the data. Then, he examined other folders and extracted the desired files. The whole process took half an hour.

Then, he had to clear his digital "footprints." That took another ten minutes.

When he left the computer room, another scientist was waiting. He looked angry.

"Sorry!" he/she said to him, with a "Thank you!" to the guards.

Jyothis/Amma returned to his office as Jyothis, where he demorphed and logged back on to the computer.

_i have all the data_, he told Asthana08.

_then U have Ur other instruxions_.

Jyothis typed an affirmative, logged off, and left the building. He crossed the street to the R. Gupta Center.

He knocked out an employee (he had not been instructed to kill anyone else, after all) and tied him up in a storage closest, adopting his face and identity. Using that, he reached the sixtieth floor and found an empty office.

His suitcase contained a locally-made ASR-77, considered the best sniper rifle in production today. He knew the weapon well.

He loaded a single shell into the bolt-action rifle. Setting the gun against the wall, Jyothis attached a suction cup to one of the windows. Holding that in one hand, he cut the window out using a knife in the other hand. He set the glass down carefully, so as not to make any noise.

Iyer had to eat. The bullet was powerful enough to penetrate the wonderfully open building at the GSC. All he had to do was wait for Iyer to eat.

Jyothis steadied his rifle and looked through the sight. Unbelievable! Iyer was actually on the balcony. It was too easy.

Wait! People were coming out onto the balcony. It didn't matter; Iyer was staying put. He lined up the rifle with Iyer's head.

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

Ami suddenly gasped.

"What is it?" the others asked simultaneously.

"I am not sure," she hesitated. "I just had a strong 'feeling.' I'm detecting an urge to kill."

"From who?" Elle asked.

Again, Ami hesitated, "I don't know. I've never tried detecting emotions remotely before but – Sanjog's in danger."

"Are you sure?" Claude asked.

"An 'urge to kill'?" Elle stood up, "I don't think we can risk it. Come on!"

Elle and Ami ran out to the balcony with Claude and Nirand following.

Sanjog turned to the others, "What's wrong?"

Ami gasped and shouted for Sanjog to duck, but he wasn't fast enough.

The instant she heard Ami's voice, Elle acted, almost instinctively. She felt the lines, the fabric of space-time due to her new power and without a conscious thought willed the flow of time to a complete standstill.

Everything was deathly quiet. Elle slowly walked around the others on the balcony, frozen grotesquely in screams.

A funnel of cloud stretched from one of the windows in a neighboring building to Sanjog's head. Evidently, they were shockwaves frozen in time. Elle slowly walked around to Sanjog's other side. A rifle bullet was gently touching Sanjog's temple, but it didn't penetrate the skin.

Elle couldn't help but laugh. Her timing was perfect. She pushed Sanjog gently over. He fell only partway to the ground, frozen. She then turned the bullet around one hundred eighty degrees.

With a gasp she let go of time.

* * *

A bullet ripped passed less than an inch from Jyothis' skull, going through the ceiling. With a gasp he let go of the gun, which fell out the window onto the streets below.

* * *

Sanjog suddenly felt himself hit the ground with a loud "What?"

Elle calmly pointed at the window where the shot came from and fired a powerful bolt of electricity in the direction. A scream was audible even at that distance.

"He's out!" Ami shouted.

"Doctor, stay here!" Elle shouted, "Claude, Rasi! Come here!"

Elle teleported into the office building with Sanjog and Ami. In the center of the room was a man, charred beyond recognition.

"Who are you? Who sent you?" Elle snapped.

"Bhara-- Mir--" the man gasped softly. Then, his breathing stopped.

"I tried to get him to say something!" Ami said.

Elle angrily kicked the corpse, "Did 'baramir' mean anything to you?"

Claude knelt down next to the body, "You idiot! Did you have to kill him?!"

Elle looked from him to the body and back again, "Call in a bag team, got it?"

"But..." Claude began.

Elle placed her hands on his shoulders and beamed him back to the balcony. She turned to Ami, "Make sure no one decides to come investigate!"

"I'm on it!" Ami said, stepping out the door.

Elle shut the door and knelt down beside the body. She felt around for anything, and found an ID card in his pocket. It's edges were charred, but the picture on it was still visible. The name was "A. R. S. Naidu". She also found a wallet, with an Andhra Pradesh driver's license for an S. Chidambaram Jyothis. The second man looked nothing like the one on the first. The third object she found was a melted flash drive. She turned to look at the corpse.

"What the hell are you?" she whispered.

END


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter XIV: Transformations  
**Iriba, Chad  
Thursday, May 20, 2021 (local time)

Peter had caught only a glimpse of Sylar's materials on Camp 8, but the camp was referenced by name. Camp Eight was one of several refugee camps located on the outskirts of Iriba, and it was generally occupied by the Ujana tribe. The camp and city was located near one of the major fronts in the so-called Africa-Wide War, and was under the protections from the Abuja Pact nations of Nigeria and South Africa, at least on paper.

Despite the inadequate number of troops, the camp had not been attacked in many years, though the surrounding ones had.

The first thing Peter noticed when he teleported to Iriba was the sheer heat. He had copied the ability to sense (and manipulate) weather from Boris Tikailov, but he did not need it to know that the air contained absolutely no moisture.

A convoy of trucks, each emblazoned with the AU logo, had entered the camp from the south. AU soldiers were handing out large packets of water bottles to the refugees in the camp. The crowds seemed violent, almost desperate for water.

Peter could recognize the camp's _derde_, or spiritual leader, thanks to his distinctive purple robes and headgear. Peter knew his name was Absko Huso.

Peter waited for a free moment and approached the derde. Using the Traveler's ability, he was able to instantly grasp the protocols of the Ujana.

Peter thus approached one of the derde's attendants and said in the local language, "{I request a meeting with the derde.}"

"{What is your name?}" the man asked. Protocol.

"{Peter Parker,}" Peter said. No need to be too truthful. The name 'Petrelli' was world-famous anyway.

"{I am Jacques,}" the man said, "{For what reason do you request a meeting?}"

Peter briefly explained the situation to him. Jacques stroked his beard before saying, "{The derde must ensure the peaceful distribution of water.}" He pointed at the derde's tent, "{You may meet the derde in one hour.}"

Peter bowed to the man and said, "{I thank you for your kindness.}"

Peter spent most of the next hour scanning the camp, hoping to find any clue as to what Sylar was after. With about ten minutes left, Peter sat down in the sands some distance from the camp. Touching his finger and thumb in the traditional meditative stance, Peter entered into a brief trance.

It wasn't his usual precognitive trance. Rather, he was purposely triggering his mother's ability. The visions he received were allegorical, but he could remember them. Using standard precognition, he would have to record his visions – paintings or writings. Neither was possible at the moment.

Peter dreamt about people and tents appearing and disappearing in the Chadian sands_**.**_

He awoke with about a minute to spare, so he teleported directly to the derde's tent.

Peter bowed at the entrance of the derde's tent and said in the local language, "{It is an honor to meet you, Absko. May I enter?}"

"{You may,}" Absko said, holding the flap open. Peter sat down inside, and Absko across from him.

"{I have been told you are here to protect one of ours,}" Absko said.

"{I am,}" Peter replied, and explained his experience seeking out Sylar.

Absko touched a finger to his lips and thought for a moment, "{Our camp's greatest asset is Akuji, who has visions of the future and helps us prepare for future attacks. The militias have given up on us, since they know we have his assistance.}"

"{No. Sylar has that power.}"

Absko frowned. He tapped his fingers on his knees for a minute or so. Finally, he said, "{There is a girl named Maluum Mandere. She is fourteen years of age, and lives on the east side of the camp with her son, Ihab, a newborn. She may not have power, but is at the center of many strange occurrences.}"

"{Are there any others?}"

"{Not to my knowledge.}"

"{Then she must be the one. Will you take me to see her?}"

"{Yes.}" Absko stood and held open the tent flap. Peter stood, bowed, and followed Absko.

"{She lives alone,}" Absko explained as they walked to the tent, "{Her parents were killed in the attack on our village four years ago. Her husband, Nuru, was killed a year ago, six months after their marriage.}"

The tent was a large one, perhaps thirty feet in circumference and roughly circular. It was larger than Absko's tent, which Peter found odd. There was also a proper entrance, with the flaps pinned open.

Absko stuck his head through the entrance, "{Is the owner of the home in?}"

A very thin young girl holding an equally thin baby appeared from behind a partition, "{Is this the derde?}"

The two bowed to each other, and repeated the ritual greetings. Absko pointed to Peter, "{Maluum, this is Peter. He must speak with you.}"

"{Madam, her life is in danger,}" Peter said.

Maluum laughed, "{Peter, look around you. We are in constant danger.}"

Peter shook his head, "{This is specifically about you.}"

"{Alright,}" Maluum said, nodding her head in the direction of the floor. Peter and Absko sat down. "{You both seem worried.}"

"{We are,}" Absko said. "{Peter here is better equipped to explain.}"

"{Thank you, derde,}" Peter said, with a bow of the head in Absko's direction. He turned towards Maluum and explained who Sylar was and what he did.

Maluum simply said, "{I see.}"

"{Maluum, you have power,}" Peter said. "{You are one of _God's Gifts_. Please don't deny it, I can sense these things.}"

Maluum bobbed one of her shoulders, a dismissive gesture. Peter continued, "{Sylar is coming here to take your power from you and he will kill you.}"

"{What do you think my power is, Peter?}"

Peter s eyes narrowed and he scanned her, "{It is difficult for me to tell, but that is not important. _You _know what it is, don't you?}"

Maluum bobbed her shoulder again.

"{Maluum!}" Peter raised his voice, "{This is very important.}"

"{I understand completely. And I thank you for your warning. I will be careful.}"

"{I have to take you to where it s safe,}" Peter said, "{You, your son.}"

Maluum smiled, "{Peter, can you tell my strength?}"

Peter's eyes narrowed again. He could feel strong space waves pulsing through her. He was shocked how strong the flow along the waves were.

"{I believe I can protect myself should the need arise,}" Maluum said, "{If you feel I am not safe, feel free to stay.}"

Peter shook his head and stood. He was aware too late that he had broken protocol, but said, "{Fine. Absko, let's go.}"

"{We thank you for your hospitality!}" Absko shouted futilely as they left.

Peter kicked the dirt outside the tent. It was rock hard, and he nearly stubbed his toe.

"{No rain for years,}" Absko said, "{Listen, stay. Tents can be made available.}"

Peter shook his head and turned around. He gasped. Behind Maluum's tent was a blue tent with United Nations symbols on it.

"{Absko, was that there before?!}"

Absko bobbed his shoulder, "{It is a tent for neutral visitors. But—}" Absko turned and hurried back to his tent, telling Peter to wait.

Peter slowly walked around it, gently touching it. It felt real, but he didn't see it when he walked into Maluum's tent. Inside was a cot, table, and battery-powered microwave. The cot had sheets that were neatly made. It was otherwise empty.

"{You might as well make yourself at home.}"

Peter turned around slowly. Maluum was standing against her tent, still holding Ihab.

"{Right,}" Peter turned and stared at the yellow tent, "{So when was—}"

Peter turned again, but Maluum was gone.

Absko appeared around the corner, "{Peter, our records say this was set up for your use, so you might as well use it. I still don't remember ordering—}"

"{It's okay,}" Peter said, a bit louder than necessary, "{I'll use it.}"

Absko shook his head. Peter quickly read his mind. Absko was telling the truth about having no memory of ordering a tent setup for Peter.

Peter shrugged it off and stepped into the tent.

* * *

The sand dunes seemed endless. As far as the eyes could see, there was nothing other than the gently rolling hills of sand.

He had been wandering for hours. He thought he had known the desert well. He thought he could navigate it in his sleep.

He stared up at the moon, took a few more steps, and fell to his knees.

A shadow fell over him. He looked up.

"{Lieutenant Muammar al-'Atbarah,}" a man said in heavily accented Arabic. He was reading from a folder he was holding, "{Leader of the Iriba Chapter of the Janjaweed. Wanted by the World Court for crimes against humanity, organization of mass rape, the enlistment of child soldiers...and people call _me_ evil.}"

"{Who are you?}" Muammar asked.

The man smiled at the melodrama of his next line, "{The last man you'll ever see.}"

With a flick of his fingers, Sylar threw Muammar deep into a sand dune. After a minute, Sylar's advanced hearing finally heard his heart stop beating.

The air rippled around him as Sylar adopted Muammar's appearance. He bent down and picked up Muammar's canteen and confidently strode in the direction of the Janjaweed base.

* * *

Peter was standing in New York. A light breeze was blowing papers through he streets. Peter bent down and picked one of them up. It was a "Petrelli '06" campaign poster.

Peter slowly walked down the street, which was filled with deserted cars. After a minute, he found himself in Kirby Plaza. He saw his younger self, standing in front of the sculpture that used to be in the plaza. He was laughing at his older self.

* * *

Peter awoke in his tent. He felt very groggy. He looked around for a clock but didn't see one. It was still dark outside.

He sat up on the side of the bed. A clock was now sitting on the bedside table, its glowing numbers announcing the time as"4:31 AM".

He wondered why he woke up. He noticed that there was an odd sound, like something hitting the roof of his tent. Like – rain?

Peter stepped outside and was immediately drenched.

He looked upward. Humongous thunderclouds covered the sky and were dropping inordinate amounts of rain. Villagers were running around up-ending anything that could possibly hold water.

Peter's phone ring. He answered it with some annoyance.

"Peter, it's Elle. Someone took a shot at Sanjog."

"Great, just great," Peter muttered. Louder, he said, "He's fine? Good. Listen, I'm gonna trust that you know what to do, alright? Take care of things over there, and don't call me unless it's absolutely necessary."

He abruptly hung up.He didn't notice when Absko ran up to him.

"{Peter!}" he shouted excitedly, "{Is this your doing?}"

"{No,}" Peter said slowly, "{This is Sylar.}"

"{Why would Sylar help us like this?}"

Peter didn't answer.

* * *

Sylar smiled at the thunderclouds. It had not been easy to gather enough moisture to create a rainstorm, but he was sure it would be worthwhile.

Sylar turned around. He was inside a shack, with rows of bunk beds inside. Each one was full. Sylar—as Muammar—was the boss of this camp. He had a more luxurious quarters in a separate shack.

Knowing his illusion ability would cover his accented Arabic, he shouted, "{Wake up, everyone!}"

He ran down the _**aisle**_, shaking the men. "{Look! Look! It's incredible! It's absolutely _incredible!}_"

One at the end of the line muttered, "{That's great, Leader.}"

Sylar shook him hard, "{Aasif! It's _raining_ Aasif!}"

"{Raining?!}" Aasif sat up and, grabbing a bowl, ran outside.

Some of the men had awakened and were also holding bowls, hoping to collect water. Like everyone within a thousand mile radius, they were tired of having to rely on foreign food instead of their own crops. Most of the men could barely remember the last time it rained in this part of Sudan, the last time native crops grew.

Sylar followed his men, staying in the rear. He redirected the winds (then blowing towards their camp) back in on themselves, terminating the storm.

There was grumbling in his group, and Sylar was able to strengthen their indignationwith his new ability.

"{Is that it?}" one shouted, "{What in the name of God was _that_?!}"

"{Should we ask them for water?}" Aasif said.

"{Ask?!}" Sylar shouted. "{What makes you think they'll cooperate?!}"

Aasif stared at Camp 8, then turned around and said, "{I'm far too tired to think clearly. Good night, Leader.}"

"{Hey!}" Sylar shouted, "{There's no way in heaven or hell that they'll give us water!}"

Aasif had already fallen asleep, but the others muttered in agreement.

Sylar turned towards them. "{Go to bed! We shall determine a course of action tomorrow!}"

With some relief—it _was _four in the morning—the rest of the soldiers went to back bed.

Sylar chuckled at the militiamen. They were acting just as he had hoped they would: two decades without water meant they would fight for any that they found.

He whispered in English, "Fools!"

* * *

It rained for about ten minutes before abruptly clearing. It had rained about two inches, and the storm had left much of the camp flooded ankle-deep.

The storm was highly localized: only Camp 8 had received any rain. Within minutes of the storm's subsidence, refugees from the neighboring camps came asking for any extra water. The camp certainly had extra. The ground was not porous enough to absorb water, and the whole camp was flooded ankle-deep.

Absko was patrolling the camp, attempting to prevent any violence over water. Peter was standing just inside of Maluum's tent, holding Ihab. Maluum was squatting on the ground – the dirt floor had become mud – and was boiling water to clean it.

"{How sure are you that this is Sylar's doing?}" she asked him. "{Could you have done this in your sleep?"

Peter shook his head, "{I know it's a power—I mean this camp, this one camp, gets more rain than it has in the past twenty years—but I'd _know_ if it was me. And I know I didn't do it. This is Sylar.}"

Maluum did her "half-shrug" and said, "{I suppose he wants the other camps to attack us as a diversion. He can kill me then.}"

"{That makes sense,}" Peter said, "{So we shouldn't give him the chance.}"

"{Peter, Peter.}" Maluum walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder, "{You seem to think I'm a _western_ fourteen year old. I'm an adult in this community. Despite all that you think, I will survive.}" And she went back to the pot.

Peter shook his head, "{What about Ihab, here?}"

Maluum turned around. Peter gasped. _She _was holding Ihab. Peter stared at what he was holding. It was apparently some sort of pillow.

Maluum laughed, "{Do you mind holding him for a moment?}"

"{Yeah, okay,}" Peter said, confused. After he took the baby, he said, "{Anyway, isn't Ihab in danger?}"

"{Has Sylar ever killed a child?}"

Peter hesitated, "{No. Not on purpose. Why do you ask?}"

"{Because that means he's safe. And I'm safe.}"

"{You just called yourself an adult.}"

Maluum laughed again, "{In _this_ community. Sylar is a westerner, and he'll see me as a little girl. Could you move, please?}"

Peter stepped aside. Maluum took another pot from the table behind Peter and stepped outside the tent. She used it to scoop some water off the ground. She placed it over the fire and put a lid on top of it.

"{Madness! Absolute madness!}" she muttered.

"{What is it?}" Peter asked.

"{What? Oh, there's some people harassing the villagers on the east side of camp. Look like Arabs. Can't wait their turn, I guess, though there's enough for everybody...}"

"{Can you hold Ihab for a moment? Thank you,}" Peter said, handing over the baby. He quickly stepped outside the door.

He could see the group Maluum was talking about. They were a group of about three men dressed in black, standing around an old jeep.

Peter extended his senses. He could make out their faces. One of them shouted something in Arabic and shoved an old woman. Another member of the group pulled him aside and whispered something. Thanks to Peter's enhanced hearing and the Traveler's omnilinguism, Peter could hear and understand what the second man was saying.

He said: "{Fool! You'll make them suspicious!}"

Peter walked in their direction, slowly to avoid drawing too much attention to himself.

The men put several barrels of water in the back of their jeep and drove off. Peter made himself invisible and took to the air.

Peter flew a few feet above the group. He could practically smell them. One was sitting in the back seat alone, leaning back in his seat.

"{You could've sparked an incident immediately,}" he said.

"{Leader, you said that we are supposed to scare them,}" said the one who shoved a villager.

"{Well, never mind,}" the Leader said. He leaned back and stared upwards, seemingly straight at Peter. He was silent for some time.

"{What do we tell the others?}" the driver asked.

"{Eh?}" The Leader seemed as if he was snapped back to attention, "{Something along the lines of 'The camp said they would never give any assistance to Arabs'. It has to sound like an ethnic issue. I'm thinking about what exactly to say. We should be ready within four hours.}"

"{I hope you know what you're doing,}" the driver said.

"{Abdul, when have I not?}" This was stated as a matter of fact.

Abdul chuckled and said, "{Point taken, Muammar. Point taken.}"

"{It is fortunate you manifested, Leader,}" the other said, "{Or else their prophet would have foreseen this!}"

Muammar turned to stare at Peter again. Peter got nervous and started to back off. Muammar seemed to follow him.

"Sylar?!" Peter shouted, igniting his hands. "Stand and fight! Agh!"

He felt a sudden pull on his mind and he blacked out.

* * *

About eight men stormed into Maluum's tent.

"{Now _you_,}" the leader said to Maluum, "{You're a cutie! Why don't you come here and show us a good time?}"

Maluum didn't move.

The leader pointed his gun at Ihab, "{Tell you what. You take off your robe, and the baby lives, got it?}"

Maluum put Ihab down and picked up a wooden spoon.

"{Aw, look at her!}" the leader crooned, handing his weapon to one of his men. "{Adorable, isn't she? Thinks she can take on eight men!}"

"{Oh, she'll take us on all right!}" another said, unbuckling his belt.

The air around the spoon crackled. With a loud snap, the spoon transformed into an AK-47.

"{Uh-oh.}"

* * *

Peter awoke face down in the sand with a splitting headache. He instantly noticed that the sun had moved greatly.

He leaped to his feet and accessed Hana's ability. First, he noted that most electronic communications were being jammed. Second, he noted he had been unconscious for four and a half hours.

"Motherfucker!" he shouted, taking to the air and almost immediately breaking the sound barrier. Mentally tearing through the jamming equipment used by the militias, he sent out a message in French on all frequencies.

"{Mayday! Mayday! Camp 8 Iriba under attack! Need massive reinforcement and assistance!}"

He repeated the message until he was hovering over the camp. Coming instantly to a stop, he shouted at the top of his lungs (and mentally for good measure):

"_**SYLAR!!**_ Coward! Show yourself!"

A unit of about a hundred men were approaching the camp from the south, shooting at tents. Peter landed in the middle of them.

He shouted in Arabic, "{THIS. ENDS. _HERE!!_}"

Peter tk'd the weapons out of their hands, then threw the nearest militiamen—hard--into the militiamen behind them. Using tk again, Peter knocked all of them down for good measure.

His hands were glowing. _Don't get too angry,_ he said to himself. He glanced at the fallen men. Perhaps a hundred foot radius? After a quick mental calculation, Peter let out a small nuclear explosion.

* * *

Maluum turned the machine gun back into a spoon.

"{You have no idea that I'm letting you all off easily, do you?}" she asked the corpses.

Ihab was crying. Maluum jumped over the bodies and picked him up. "{Don't worry, Ihab. Mommy will protect you. Mommy will _always_ protect you.}"

Maluum heard gunfire in the distance, and screams. She looked around the ruins of her tent, and back at Ihab.

"{Okay. Let's see now...}"

* * *

"{Leader, look!}"

Muammar turned and gasped at the brilliant flash from the south.

Sylar dropped his illusion and took to the air.

"That was rather silly of you, wasn't it Pete?"

Peter rose from the epicenter, his hands burning.

"You know," he hissed, "I used to think there were some things that were actually _beneath_ you."

"You mean _these_?" Sylar gestured vaguely at the invading militias. "It's survival of the fittest, Pete."

"Survive _this!_"

Peter shot a fire beam out of his right hand. Sylar immediately countered with an ice beam. The two collided with each other, unable to break through the other.

"You going to do this all day?" Sylar asked.

Using his left hand, Peter shot out an arc of fire that bent down and hit Sylar on the head.

With a loud scream, Sylar lost his aerial "footing" and began a nosedive. Peter shot several small bursts at him.

Sylar quickly righted himself and dodged the smaller bursts. His upper body had been burned black.

"That _hurt!_" Sylar shot an incredibly cold beam of ice at Peter. Peter crossed his arms against his chest and put up a force field. The beam was intense and difficult to counter. Peter's concentration broke and his left leg froze.

The beam dissipated. Peter shattered his leg to allow it to regenerate.

Sylar's skin had by then regenerated. His hair actually seemed neater than before, though his clothes were severely charred. Peter noticed that it appeared to be a US Army uniform.

"Curious what I've been up to?" Sylar tore one of the rank insignia off and tk'd it at Peter. It severely lacerated his jaw.

Peter spat some blood out, "I'm damn curious!" He tried to push himself into Sylar's mind.

Sylar had acquired an excellent mental shield. The texture of his mind was incredibly smooth to Peter, revealing no emotional disturbances.

At the same time, Sylar was pushing his way into Peter's mind, which was, for lack of a better word, wavy, distorted by regular ripples of emotion.

Neither could penetrate any deeper.

Suddenly, Peter bore down his full mentality and whacked Sylar's mind with a mentalic whip. Sylar clutched blindly at his forehead. Quickly, Peter dipped into the deeper levels of Sylar's mind and came out. It took much less than a second, and Peter wasn't even sure that he got anything.

Still rubbing his forehead with one hand, Sylar pointed his other at Peter like a gun and pulled the "trigger."

Two "bullets" came from Sylar's hand and hit Peter. Peter's chest exploded and he immediately fell to the ground.

Sylar landed gently a few feet away. He leveled his finger with Peter's forehead.

Suddenly, machine gun fire rang out and Sylar fell face first into the sand. Peter had finished regenerating and sat up.

Maluum was standing behind Sylar, holding a wooden spoon. Oddly, Ihab was nowhere in sight.

Peter jumped over Sylar and ran to her, grabbing Maluum's hand and giving her a small telekinetic shove. "{Run! Run!}"

"{I can hel—!}"

"{_Run!_}" Peter shoved her. She ran. Peter then turned around.

Sylar was standing behind him, looking completely unharmed. A jeep was passing about thirty yards away. Sylar grabbed it telekinetically and swung it at Peter like a baseball bat.

Calling on Niki's strength, Peter raised his arm to shield himself and was able to partially block the impact. The jeep broke in half when it hit his arm but still forced Peter to the ground. The riders were nowhere in sight.

One of the tents was on fire. Sylar calmly put it out with an ice beam.

Peter threw the jeep's remains at Sylar. Sylar tk'd it to a stop about an inch from his face and, with a jerk of his head, threw it over his shoulder.

"I suppose we could go at this forever," he said with a laugh.

"Maybe we should find another way to solve our differences," Peter said with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Sylar laughed again, then brought a mental whip down on Peter.

With a scream, Peter hit the dirt. Peter threw a fire beam at Sylar, who used his TK to divert it.

"Of course," Sylar said, "We could just wait for one of us to let his guard down."

As if on cue, Maluum appeared and threw a rock at him. It hit his chest and, by the time it hit the ground, it had transformed into a bomb.

"Oh sh—!"

Peter took immediately to the air, being singed in the explosion.

A fireball flew off in a completely different direction, quickly going supersonic. Sylar.

Peter quickly scanned the camp. Portions of the camp were on fire. Peter put out the flames using a water-jet power. He then landed next to Maluum.

She had crossed her arms. "{What do you want me to do now?}" she asked him.

Peter hesitated, "{You have an impressive power. You transform things?}"

"{Among other tasks, yes.}"

"{So where's Ihab?}"

Ihab appeared out of nowhere, resting on her shoulder. Peter said, "{Huh. Well, Sylar's gone. We need to see what else happened down there.}"

"{I'll follow you,}" she said.

* * *

Somewhere in the United States  
Friday, May 21, 2021, pre-dawn (local time)

Sylar was standing in a junk yard. He swore loudly and tk'd a junk car about a hundred yards.

He realized his anger was just a bit childish. Still, he had two consecutive defeats.

Being defeated by Peter could have, perhaps, been expected. He was the only person on Earth who could be expected to beat him, his only equal.

North was another matter. Sylar had assumed he would be weak. Instead he had been, to use an old-fashioned term, pwned.

Sylar threw another car. His skills were clearly a little rusty. They had to be. He was out of practice. After all, his goal, for many years, had been to kill Claire Bennet and stop there, and he had.

Suddenly, the irony hit him. He had done nothing to get her. Director Parkman was angry that Hiro Nakamura had escaped a trap in New York, a trap he had promised Sylar (as President Petrelli) would not fail. It was Parkman who got Claire, not Sylar.

Still, he had been "off the wagon" from that point until 2019. Hell, he had lived in SG City! But then, he had discovered Project Nike, and everything changed.

Sylar checked his watch. He been gone a very long time. He needed to return by sunrise, and he was currently pushing it.

Sylar immediately, silently, took to the air.

* * *

"{I assume you are Mr. Parker.}"

Peter was approached by a young man wearing traditional Ujanan garb. He was flanked by AU soldiers.

"{Yes. And you are?}"

"{Francois Absko,}" he said, "{I now lead this camp.}"

"{Derde Absko—}" Peter began.

"{My father is dead,}" Francois stated harshly, "{And I would—rather, _we_ would—like to know what you know.}"

"{I don't understand.}"

Maluum held onto Peter's shoulder with her free hand.

"{Witnesses report that you engaged in a battle with another _homme evolve'_,}" he said, using the French term for SG. "{In doing so, you severely damaged the camp. We can attribute about a hundred deaths to you, in addition to 155 caused by the raid.}"

Peter stared at the dirt, and said, "{I'm sorry.}" He clearly meant it. "{But the man I fought with started the raid and I had to stop him. He would've done much more damage.}"

"{We'll be the judge of that,}" Francois said. "{Especially since you apparently were able to set off a nuclear explosion. We would very much like to know how you did that. In any case, all witnesses report that the man you fought with was white. There is no evidence that a white man leads the Janjaweed.}" The last was extremely sarcastic.

"{What do you want from me?}"

The soldiers leveled their guns. Francois said, "{I am afraid, Monsieur Parker, that you are guilty of war crimes against this camp and are under arrest.}"

Maluum stepped in front of Peter, "{Sirs, this man saved my life!}"

"{Maluum, don't!}" Peter hissed.

"{Woman, get out of the way!}" Francois shouted. "{This man has killed _hundreds—_including Akuji, our greatest defense!}"

"{It's okay, Maluum,}" Peter said, pushing her aside.

"{Put your hands on your head, Parker.}" Francois said.

Peter did so. He then took a deep breath and said, "{I'm not the man you're looking for.}"

"{You're not the man we're looking for,}" Francois repeated.

"{The man you're looking for got away.}"

"{The man we're looking for got away.}"

Maluum turned from Peter to Francois, completely astonished.

"{Peter Parker was never here,}" Peter said, and Francois repeated.

"{Sorry for the interruption, we can go about our business.}"

"{Sorry for the interruption,}" Francois said, bowing to Peter. Peter returned the gesture. "{You can go about your business.}"

"{Thank you, _derde_," Peter said. Peter shook his head at Francois as he left.

Maluum turned to stare at Peter. Slowly, she asked, "{What the hell was that?}"

Peter just smiled. He placed a hand on Maluum and Ihab and teleported to Utah.

* * *

Yamagato Fellowship Regional Office  
Rosette, Utah  
Friday, May 21, 2021, 5:35 AM MST

"{What?!}"

Maluum slowly turned in circles, gazing at the hallway she found herself in.

Peter put a hand on her shoulder, "{Perhaps you should sit down.}"

He guided her gently into a chair.

Maluum took a deep breath. "{I don't know what to do.}"

Peter looked in both directions down the hallway, as if hoping an answer would appear.

"{Do you speak Arabic?}" he asked.

"{A little. Why?}"

"{I know someone—well, two someones. There's Amid Malachi and his wife Shareesh. They'll take care of you. I'm going to take you to them, okay?}"

Maluum quickly nodded. Peter handed the baby back to her and teleported them to SG City.

The sun was already rising over SG City. Amid and Shareesh were already up, out on their porch saying their morning prayers. Peter held Maluum back to wait until they were finished.

Shareesh noticed them first, waving them over.

"Good morning, Peter!" they both said. Amid turned to Maluum and said, "Good morning. And you are?"

"{This is Maluum and her son Ihab,}" Peter said in Arabic. "{They're from Chad. Maluum speaks a little Arabic.}"

"{Good morning,}" he said, hesitatingly, "{Please speak slowly, Peter. Our Arabic is a little rusty.}"

Peter explained the situation.

"{Of course we're willing to help,}" Shareesh said, though Amid didn't seem so sure, "{But if Sylar is after her...}"

"{I already have a plan,}" Peter said. He held Amid's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He felt a slight tingle emanating from that spot slowly reaching the whole of his body.

"{I'm giving you an ability.}" Peter removed his hand. "{I've made you into a living early-warning system. If Sylar is coming, you'll know. You'll wake up if your asleep, if it happens.}"

"{But I'm fully capable of defending myself!}" Maluum interrupted. She sounded a bit insulted.

"{She is!}" Peter said. "{Look, don't worry too much. I'll probably foresee something before you do, Amid.}"

"{Right.}"

"{Maluum,}" Shareesh said, "{Would you like to step inside?}"

"{Yes, thank you.}"

Shareesh went to follow, but Peter held her back. He whispered, "Listen. She's very mature for her age—fourteen, I don't think I told you—but she's been through a lot. Keep that in mind, okay?"

"We will," Shareesh said.

Peter popped in and said goodbye to Maluum. He then stepped away from the others and gave a simple wave before beaming away.

* * *

END


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter XV: Retrospective**

Lhasa, Tibet

Friday, May 21, 2021 (local time)

Peter appeared at the footsteps of a Buddhist temple. Confidently, he walked towards the door.

The doorman bowed, recognizing Peter, and let him in.

Peter found Randolph Kane—formerly Adam Monroe, formerly Takezo Kensei—in his room.

"I take it things worked out?" Kane asked. The bald man, dressed in a monk's robes, pulled a chair out from a desk for Peter to sit.

Peter sat down, "Our target is in protective custody. Her name's Maluum, she's…I don't know what the hell she is."

For the first time, Kane turned to face Peter, "Oh? She hasn't displayed her power?"

"She more than displayed it," Peter said, "She made things appear and disappear, she turned a spoon into an AK, she held her own against Sylar. I just don't know what her power actually IS, or what its limits are."

"Sound like a reality warper," Kane said, "It is the ability to reshape matter and energy, create or alter life forms, turn a person's thoughts or desires into reality, simulate any and all other powers and abilities, bend time and space, and possibly even rewrite the laws of physics. Dr. Suresh the elder theorized about them. She may be more powerful than you and Sylar put together."

Peter sighed, "She's just a kid."

"Give it time," Kane said, turning to his desk. It was Spartan, befitting a Buddhist monk. "Before I was Takezo Kensei, I was an angry, fragile drunk. Where it not for my love of Yaeko, or if I had lost her…I could have been a very different person."

"So what's your point?"

"It takes time to become a hero, Peter."

Kane pulled a file folder off his desk. He opened it and wrote something in it, "We still haven't figured out how Sylar survived. Do you have any ideas?"

"No," Peter said, "I saw his corpse."

Kane nodded thoughtfully, "Go over it, from the beginning. What happened?"

* * *

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

New York City

Once again, New York was rocked by an explosion.

A massive explosion tore the top floors off the Homeland Security building. Witnesses reported a streak of fire, like a comet, fly off to the south.

Peter Petrelli, unconscious, fell dozens of stories to the street below.

Slowly, he awakened, and his sense of place returned to him.

"_**SYLAR!**_" he shouted, jumping to his feet, "Where are you?"

He received no response but his voice echoing off the surrounding buildings.

The homeland Security building began to rumble. As it collapsed, Peter took to the air and flew to Kirby Plaza. Landing in front of the cameras, he said, "My name is Peter Petrelli, I'm the President's brother. Nathan's dead, Sylar killed him. And the clinics are phony—they're planning to kill us all."

A Secret Service agent went to grab Peter, but Peter phased through him and disappeared.

* * *

President Tom DeLancey, who only a mere few hours ago was the Vice President, walked slowly around the Oval Office. The place, decorated with Nathan Petrelli's personal effects, felt like a morgue.

"I'm appointing you Acting Director of DHS until we can confirm Parkman's status, Mr. Danko," he said to one of the men in the room.

"Thank you, sir," Danko said.

DeLancey turned to the other men in the office, "Find Sylar. I want him dead, understood?"

"Yes, sir," one of the men said.

"Dismissed."

Danko and his men left, leaving DeLancey alone with two Secret Service agents.

"Are you here, Mr. Petrelli?" DeLancey asked the thin air.

Peter became visible, standing by the door.

"Parkman killed Bennet this afternoon," Peter said, "And Hiro Nakamura. So the organized SG groups are both gone."

"Damn!" DeLancey said, "We need your help!"

"Why on Earth should I help you?" Peter asked, folding his arms and leaning on the wall.

"Have a seat," DeLancey said, gesturing as he sat behind the Oval Office desk. When Peter didn't move, he shouted "SIT DOWN!"

Peter laughed to himself, and slowly made his way to the desk.

"You and I both know that Sylar is a major thorn in the SG side," DeLancey said, "More so than the public does. In return for your cooperation, I'm willing to make a deal."

"What sort of deal?" Peter asked, confused.

"Not repealing the Linderman Act," DeLancey said, "Congress would never stand for it. But I can _neuter_ it. I am willing to free all non-dangerous SG's from the prisons and send them to a reservation. You'll have your own city, hot and cold running water, et cetera."

"A city? Not a camp or a prison?"

"Precisely. There may be restrictions on who comes and goes, but nothing severe."

"Who decides which SG's are dangerous?"

DeLancey smiled, "We do. Exempting those you need released to help you track down Sylar."

As Peter considered this, DeLancey said, "It goes without saying that we're not going to open the phony clinics."

"Of course, I exposed them this afternoon."

"I could consider that favor enough…" DeLancey began.

Peter stood, "I have to talk to people, get them organized, but you can consider it a deal."

They shook hands.

* * *

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Cabo San Lucas, Mexico

Meredith Gordon had never thought of herself as a leader.

Of course, when government agents bust down your door, intent on arresting you for the crime of your very existence, you have to do something.

But that war was supposed to be over. She fought on the losing side, and now had to live in hiding in this tropical paradise.

It felt more like hell.

So, "Tatiana Oreskovich" lived a life in hotels and on the streets, without using her power.

She was walking past a Starbucks when she noticed a large crowd of people inside, surrounding the television.

"{What is it?}" she asked a man in Spanish.

"{The American President is dead. He was killed by Sylar!}"

"Sylar." Meredith reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. It was an old model, a pre-paid. She dialed Peter's number.

"Peter's not here," Niki Sanders answered immediately.

"Niki, this is Meredith," she said, "I need to know what's going on."

"I don't give a fuck," Niki said calmly, "He went to New York with Hiro a few hours ago. You can find him there."

"You didn't hear the news, then?" Meredith asked.

"What?"

"Sylar's still alive," Meredith said, "Peter's gonna want to get us all together again. Can you tell him where I am? I'm in Cabo, at…" Meredith glanced over her shoulder and gave Niki the address.

"Sure." Niki sighed, "If he comes back, I'll let him know, okay?" And she hung up the phone.

Meredith sighed and went into the Starbucks.

* * *

An hour later, Peter teleported to the Starbucks in Cabo. He and Meredith sat down at one of the tables on the sidewalk. The Starbucks was not as crowded as it had been an hour before.

"I thought Sylar was dead," Meredith said.

"No one can be harmed by their own ability, Meredith," Peter said, "You should know that. You ever burned your hands?"

"Never been burned, period," Meredith said, "So, he's just been loose this whole time? And you knew?"

Peter sighed. "Meredith, _I_ exploded on November 8th, not Sylar."

Meredith's eyes widened, "I see. And your brother blamed Sylar to cover your ass, because you both _thought_ he died in New York. But why is he so dangerous?"

"Sylar's a serial killer. He kills people and takes their powers. He killed my brother and used a power to impersonate him for God knows how long. He could be responsible for _everything_. And there's more."

"What?"

Peter took a deep breath, "I got into his mind briefly when we were fighting, and Sylar wants to be the _only_ person with powers. I don't know why or how, but he wants to kill us all. That's why we have to stop him."

Meredith leaned back in her chair, "So what do you want me to do?"

"Help me rebuild. The Fellowship and the Company are both gone, now. We need to join together."

"And help the government? Are you crazy?"

"The government's offered us a deal. Our own settlement, where we can be free."

Meredith nodded, "I'll help."

* * *

Over the next several days, Peter spent time gathering his forces.

First, he went to Niki. On the eighth, they had parted under the worst possible terms. Niki had explicitly told him not to come back, and they fought when he did. But Niki had admitted she would have sought Sylar's bogus cure, and she had to be grateful to Peter for indirectly saving her life. With that in mind, she agreed, begrudgingly, to help.

Then, Heidi Petrelli and Kimiko Nakamura. Neither had powers and both were grieving, but Peter thought it necessary to bring them in on it: Heidi for the money, Kimiko because she was the only living member of the old Fellowship.

Finally, on November 12, a Saturday, Peter met with Niki, Heidi, Kimiko, Elle Bishop, Claude Rains, Byron Bevington, and Randolph Kane (the latter three sprung from government custody) at the abandoned Company facility in Hartsdale, New York. After preliminary introductions, Elle had the first question.

"Why did you tell me not to bring my dad?" she asked Peter, "Our parents have a good idea what's going on."

"Our parents had the brilliant idea of letting me explode in New York," Peter said, having already confessed his involvement to all those present, "And look how that turned out. I want to go over their heads."

He pointed at a TV screen mounted on the wall. Despite being unplugged, it turned on and displayed the picture of the twelve.

"Of the founders of the Company, ten are still alive. Linderman—excuse me, _Senator_ Linderman—is still working against SG's."

"Do you view him as suspect?" Kane asked.

Peter nodded, "Frankly, I don't know what Linderman is aiming for, but this war must be part of what he wants. We need to interview him, let me get inside his head."

Peter flicked his finger, and his mother's Primatech file came onscreen, "Mom controls the money—for now. Heidi, you have Nathan's part of the fortune, we'll need you to manage that."

"How, exactly?" Heidi asked.

"I'm not sure, at the moment," Peter said, "But once Sylar's gone, we'll need to manage all SG affairs in America."

"Why us?" Niki asked.

Briefly, Peter explained the deal with the government.

"And you think DeLancey can be trusted?" Claude asked.

"Yes," Peter said, "I read his mind. He means business, but only if we keep our end of the deal."

"Which is?" Kimiko asked.

"_We_ need to take down Sylar. Those of us with offensive abilities—Niki, Meredith, Elle, and myself—will take care of that. The rest of you are going to re-found the Company." He turned to Kane, "Who do you think we can trust?"

"Well, definitely Kaito," Kane said, "Even if he had me locked up. I'd add to that list Victoria Pratt, Harry Fletcher, Carlos Mendez, and Susan Amman."

"What about my dad?" Elle asked.

"Sorry, but I think he should be left out of this."

"I agree," Peter said, "He's too close to the Linderman group."

Elle shrugged. Peter scanned her mind, and found nothing but ambivalence.

"So, that gives us probability manipulation, biomanipulation, weather control, precognition, and lie detection." Peter fell silent for a moment.

"What is it?" Niki asked.

Peter flicked his finger again, and Molly Walker's profile came up.

"This is Molly Walker. She can locate any person, anywhere. She's the only person who can find Sylar." He frowned.

"So what's the problem?" Elle asked.

"I don't know where _she_ is, and I don't have her ability. She bailed when her hiding place was taken down by government agents in 2008, and no one's heard from her since."

"Is that why I'm here?" Claude asked. He had been hiding her in 2008.

Peter shook his head, "I didn't think you'd know where she is. You're here because I trust your expertise."

"I bloody ran out on you!"

Peter waved him off, "I know what the Company would have done to you. And I want to make sure that _we_ don't make those mistakes."

Peter produced a full size painting, seemingly from nowhere. The others were unfazed. Using TK, Peter levitated the painting in front of the group.

The painting showed a freeway overpass at night. A sign identifying the overpass as Interstate 35 was visible.

"I tried painting Molly's location," he said, "And this is the best I could do. I figure it covers about a thousand overpasses."

"So what now?" Elle asked, annoyed.

Peter turned. "Byron?"

"Yes?" Byron asked. He was a tall, balding man with gray hair and glasses.

"You're going to do your best to write the future location of Molly Walker. It's the best hope we've got."

"Understood."

* * *

Monday, November 14, 2011

Clive, Iowa

Byron Bevington, it turned out, was indeed perfectly capable of using his ability to locate Molly. He wrote that she was under the Hickman Road overpass outside Des Moines.

Claude and Peter left to get her.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Claude said as they walked along Hickman Road.

"What do you mean?"

"A fifteen-year old girl, trapped under an overpass? What if we come across a body?"

"I've already got plan B figured out," Peter said, as they climbed up under the overpass, "Molly? Molly Walker?"

Suddenly, a gun was pointed in his face.

"Who the hell are you?" Molly asked, holding the gun steady.

"My name is Peter Petrelli," Peter explained calmly, "I was wondering if you'd help me find Sylar."

"It's all right, Moll," Claude said.

Molly lowered the gun as she saw Claude and climbed out of her hiding place. She was covered in dirt.

"You're the president's brother," she said, "You're supposed to be dead. _Sylar's_ supposed to be dead."

Briefly, Peter explained the situation.

"Sure, I'll help. Can I get a shower first?"

* * *

Hyde Park, NY

Monday, November 14, 2011

Molly returned to the Petrelli Mansion in Hyde Park, where Elle, Niki, Meredith, and Heidi were waiting. After showering and getting dressed in decent clothes, Molly sat down in the Petrelli study with an atlas.

"It's been a while since I've used my ability to track someone," she explained, "I've had it on 'early-warning mode' for years. It's how I avoid creeps and stuff."

She closed her eyes and began thumbing through the atlas…to New York.

"He's here," she said sticking a pin in the book. She opened her eyes.

The pin was dead center on the dot marked HYDE PARK.

"Oh, _shit!_" Peter shouted.

"He's _here_!" Molly said.

Peter and Meredith stood up and ignited their hands.

"SYLAR!" Peter shouted, "SHOW YOURSELF!"

Silence.

Elle looked over at Peter, then to Molly, "Is he in this house?"

Scared, Molly nodded.

Peter began walking slowly out of the study, his mind scanning the surrounding area. He felt the presence of no one.

Peter stepped into the hallway. Empty in both directions.

"Heidi?" he called out, "Get the kids!"

There was no response. Nor could he mentally detect his sister-in-law and her children.

_Sylar doesn't kill children_, Peter thought, _And I am new at this mental sensing business…_

He still felt uneasy, however, as Meredith stepped out into the hallway, Molly following close behind.

"He's at the front stairs," Molly said after a moment.

Peter nodded, "Claude, take Molly and run."

"On it."

Extinguishing his hands, Peter phased through the floor and landed on the first floor, right next to the front stairs.

He saw no one.

Peter looked around, but could find no one there.

Then, a whisper in his ear, "Hello, Pete."

Peter was flung forward through the front door. He tumbled and rolled onto the driveway.

"SYLAR!"

Peter lifted himself and spun around. Sylar was nowhere to be seen.

Peter ignited his hands and ran back into the house. Using his TK as a boost, he jumped up, phasing through the ceiling and returning to the second floor hallway. There, he found Meredith and Sylar locked in combat. Sylar was talking to Molly.

"You and me, as a team. So, what do you think, Molly?" Sylar asked.

"Go to hell!" Molly shouted in response.

Sylar tsk-tsk'd, "Not the smart move, Molly." With his free hand, he shot an ice beam at Molly.

Molly screamed and fell to the floor.

"Motherfucker!" Peter shouted, shooting a beam of fire into Sylar's back. Sylar screamed, caught fire, and fell into the study.

Peter ran over to Molly and accessed Linderman's power, healing her of a severe injury.

Peter stood up and ran into the study, pausing to tell Meredith to find Heidi and the kids and to get the hell out of there.

Niki grabbed Sylar and tore off his right arm. Sylar, using his other hand, TK'd her out the window.

As his arm regenerated, Elle shocked him with a million volts. Charred, Sylar fell into the other room.

"Thank you, Elle," Peter said, running into the room, "Now run, go!"

"But…!"

"_**GO**_!"

Elle turned and ran.

Sylar had fallen onto the piano, which had caught fire. Sylar, however, was no longer on fire.

Sylar pointed his finger at Peter like a gun and pulled the "trigger". Peter screamed as his chest exploded.

With all his might, Peter put up a force field around himself as he regenerated. He tried the same gun trick on Sylar, but instead blew up the piano. The room was bombarded by flaming shrapnel, and the curtains caught on fire.

"Missed me," Sylar calmly remarked.

"No shit," Peter said, standing back up, "Got any other tricks?"

Sylar raised his hand. Suddenly, Peter became very stiff. He saw, to his horror, that his arms were moving outside of his control.

Sylar laughed as he made Peter do the "Thriller" dance.

The bookcase caught on fire.

With a great deal of concentration, Peter lashed out at Sylar mentally, hitting Sylar's mind with a mental whip.

Sylar screamed and grasped at his head.

"Nice one!" Sylar shouted, telekinetically throwing Peter through the wall. Peter stood up in the bedroom across the hall, dazed.

Sylar flew through the hole in the wall and grabbed Peter by the neck.

"So it ends," Sylar said.

Peter smiled and exploded with a very small nuclear blast.

Peter saw Sylar's skeleton fly across the room, back into the burning library. Now the bedroom was on fire.

Sylar didn't stand back up.

Peter flew through the roof and, using water jets, put out the fires on the Petrelli property.

* * *

Friday, May 21, 2021

Lhasa, Tibet

"A few hours later," Peter said, "CSI found Sylar's bones. And that was the end of it."

Kane considered this. After a long moment, he said, "We should check the bones."

Moments later, they had teleported to the FBI Crime Lab in Washington, DC. With time stopped, they made their way quickly through the files. Kane found some of the bones in a jar on an agent's desk.

Gingerly, Peter opened the jar.

"Here goes nothing," he said, activating Bridget Bailey's ability.

Moments later, he set the bone down.

"Well?" Kane asked.

"The bone belongs to a man named James Martin," Peter said, "He was a shape shifter. Sylar tracked him down. He was shape-shifted into Sylar, then Sylar killed him. Sylar stored him in a dimensional pocket, then brought the corpse out when I blew up."

Kane was silent for a long while.

"_That_ is the craziest thing I have ever heard."

Peter sighed, then slammed his fist on the desk, "Dammit! They should've run DNA tests on the bones!"

"Why bother?" Kane asked, "Were they expecting any other corpses in your brother's house?"

"They hadn't found Nathan, yet."

"A corpse would be missing a brain," Kane said, putting his arm around Peter, "Come on, it was an honest mistake."

Peter squirmed his way out of Kane's grasp, "It got more people killed."

Kane sighed, "Well, it's all in the past. And if Hiro Nakamura taught us one thing, it's that the past is in stone."

_I wonder_…, Peter began thinking, before changing his train of thought, "You're right. Maybe I should have them run tests on the bones now, though."

"Perhaps," Kane said, as Peter grabbed his shoulder and teleported them back to Lhasa.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter XVI: Questions and Answers**

Rosette, Utah

Thursday, May 20, 2021 (Utah time)

Sue Landers ran her hands through her hair and adjusted her glasses, "I'm ready."

Zach Jennings nodded and pressed a button. The door to the interrogation cell opened. Sue and her associate Curtis Hovsepian stepped through. Zach, Molly Walker, and Joey Crane remained behind in the observation room.

Isabelle Green sat rigidly at the table in the interrogation cell, staring at her reflection in the observation window.

"Ms. Green?" Curtis said, "I'm Agent Hovsepian, this is Agent Landers, we'd like to ask a few questions."

"Go fuck yourselves," Green said.

"Well, this is off to a productive start," Joey whispered to Molly.

"Shh!" Molly hissed.

Curtis sat down across from Green, "Are you an agent of General Robert Maslarak?"

"Who?" Green asked.

"She's lying," Sue said.

"I didn't need a lie detector to tell me that," Curtis said. He crossed his arms on the table, "Who gave you the Euros to give to Winters?"

Green was silent.

"What did Winters do for you that elicited a reward of a billion Euros?"

Green remained silent. She turned away from Curtis and crossed her arms.

Curtis smiled, "Silence simply won't do, Ms. Green."

He reached a hand out towards her. Suddenly, Green shouted, "Nothing! Nothing at all!"

"What did he just do?" Joey asked.

"Made her talk," Molly said, "That's his power."

"What kind of lame power is that?"

"She's lying," Sue said.

"Okay," Curtis said, leaning in towards Green, "We're being nice here. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, and have a telepath scan your brain."

"You'd need a court order," Green said.

"Who says we can't get one?"

Curtis stood up and began pacing, "A billion Euros. That's $100 trillion. You don't just throw around a hundred trillion dollars. What was it for?"

He pointed a finger at Green and she said, "Winters was giving us a CD with information on the location and movements of Yamagato's top field agents, as well as the encryption codes for Yamagato's communications systems."

Sue nodded.

"And what does Maslarak want with our communications systems?" Again, he pointed his finger at Green's throat.

"Curiosity."

Sue laughed.

"Be serious, Ms. Green," Curtis said, "Yamagato and SG City have the right to internal policing."

"Not for long," Green said.

"What do you mean by that?" Green didn't respond. Again with his finger, "What does that mean?"

Green struggled against Curtis' power, "Nothing. I was just…joking."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Sue said, walking over to look at Green directly, "How is Maslarak endangering our sovereignty?"

"I think a better question is," Curtis said, "Why are you supporting Maslarak?"

Sue stepped back and Curtis began walking around the room, "Let's drop the pretense. We have psychics. We know about the FGR-207. We know about the planned attack on SG City. Why your involvement? What do you have against SG's?"

"Nothing!" Green snapped.

"Bullshit, you—"

"No, she's telling the truth," Sue said.

Curtis turned to Sue, puzzled, then back to Green. "So you don't want to see an SG genocide. Yet you work with a man who is engineering exactly that."

"General Maslarak is _not_ engineering genocide!"

"You're lying!" he shouted.

"No!" Sue shouted, "She doesn't think so, at any rate."

"What?" Curtis snapped, "Then what the fuck do you think Maslarak is doing?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Green said, standing up with her hands on the table, "All that SG's have suffered is _your_ fault! Sylar, Petrelli, Nakamura, Gordon, you've all made us suffer! And soon we will be free of your fucking 'Fellowship'!" And with that, she sat down.

Stunned, Curtis paused, then said, "Come on, I don't think we'll get more out of her."

Sue nodded, and they left.

* * *

Hyderabad, India

Friday, May 21, 2021 (local time)

"What do we got?"

Elle strode confidently into the Medical Examiner's office, followed closely by Claude. The Medical Examiner, R. G. R. Chandamalla, leaned over the burnt body of Jyothis.

"S. Chidambaram Jyothis," Chandamalla said, "Masks on, please."

After Claude and Elle placed masks on, Chandamalla continued, "His DNA is on register as per the Superhuman Registry Act of 2012. According to records he was a shapeshifter. Cause of death was heart failure caused by electrocution—"

"No duh, doc," Elle said.

Chandamalla glared at Elle before continuing, "His appearance is currently altered to mimic A. R. S. Naidu, an employee at the R. Gupta Center. We found Mr. Naidu locked in a closet, unconscious."

Chandamalla walked over to a desk where a laptop was set up.

"Mr. Jyothis appears to have downloaded data from our mainframe," Chandamalla said, "The data on the flash drive in his possession is for the most part inaccessible, but it appears to contain been financiers of the organization, the location of safe houses, information on how to encourage a powered person to develop a desired ability, and personnel files."

Chandamalla picked up the melted flash drive, "Fortunately, melting the drive does not play havoc with my clairsentience. He gained access to the mainframe by impersonating Dr. Sarin, a geneticist with our operation. Dr. Sarin is currently missing."

"Do you know who gave him the drive?" Elle asked.

Chandamalla nodded, "He was given the drive by Dr. Mira Shenoy."

"Bloody hell!" Claude said, "Dr. Shenoy?"

"Is there any evidence that her company is involved in this?" Elle asked.

"Unfortunately, no," Chandamalla said, "I examined the surface memories of Mr. Jyothis, and it appears that he is a professional assassin. I do not know if he was hired by Dr. Shenoy personally or by Bharatgene as a company."

"Thank you, Doctor," Claude said, guiding Elle out of the morgue.

"Now what?" Elle asked.

Claude sighed, "We could get a court order to interview Dr. Shenoy, but I imagine that'll take a long time. We may have to go around the law to get to the bottom of this."

"Wonderful," Elle said, "What do you have in mind?"

"We should get everyone together for a meeting, first."

* * *

Nirand set the table down proudly.

"Why the hell did you want super-strength?" Claude asked after a moment.

"It seemed like the quintessential superpower," Nirand said.

"And it was very easy to give it to him," Oak said.

Claude chuckled and shook his head, "Well, never mind. That's not why we're here. We're here to break into Bharatgene. Elle?"

Briefly, Elle explained Chandamalla's findings, aided by a PowerPoint presentation.

"It all comes back to Bharatgene, eh?" Nirand remarked when she was finished.

"The company itself HAD to have ordered it," Ami said.

"I think it is stupid to make the distinction," Prakasam said, "Dr. Shenoy IS the company."

"What do you mean?" Elle asked.

"She has absolute control of the board of directors," Prakasam said, "There are no checks on her power over company operations."

"Let's remember, we KNOW that Bharatgene is interested in controlling the powered population," Sanjog said, "We should be asking: why me?"

Claude nodded, "Let's take it for granted that Bharatgene is responsible for hiring the bloody hit man. We should be asking why they wanted Sanjog dead and who else they may be targeting."

The group was silent for a moment.

"They wanted Professor Chandrasekhar's research," Prakasam said, "Perhaps they want him and his subjects dead so we—meaning Yamagato—can't have them."

"Then we should leave India," Nirand said.

"That doesn't solve the root problem," Elle said.

"She's right," Steve said. Everyone turned to stare at him, "This company appears to be a threat to all powered persons in India. How many are there? A hundred thousand?"

"Thereabouts," Nirand said.

"Then I suggest we take them out."

"I like the way this man thinks," Elle whispered to Claude.

"Remember, they have kidnapped eight people on Professor Chandrasekhar's List," Prakasam said.

"So this is a rescue operation," Sanjog said.

"Now, hold on!" Claude said, standing up, "We're talking about a Fortune 500 company here. There's all sorts of legal implications involved. With them kidnapping people, we could have them shut down."

"Yeah, and they'll kill the people they kidnapped," Elle said, "They'll have nothing to lose."

"May I remind you, Claude," Nirand said, "That Parliament was recently bombed? That our government is operating in a state of chaos? I doubt we will find anyone interested in helping us."

"And do we really want to get the police involved?" Ami asked, "This is an SG issue, not a police issue. Yamagato has police powers where SG's are concerned."

"I suppose you're right," Claude said after a moment's thought.

"Then it's settled," Elle said, "We break into Bharatgene."


End file.
